Learning to feel again
by ncis-lady
Summary: DH spoilers! Sequel to Can you feel nothing?. How long does it take to finally be able to feel again? George has to be stronger than ever before to find his way back into life. 21. Sunlight. Now finally complete!
1. Haunted Nights

WARNING: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS!!! DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!

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So here we are... I told you I'd write a sequel to "Can you feel 'nothing'?", so here it is. For those who haven't read my previous story: it's not really necessary to know it, but I'd be glad if you read it anyway, of course!

I don't know how many chapters I'll write, all I know is that I want to show George's way back into a life without Fred. It begins right after George has been at Fred's grave after the funeral.

As always, I ask you to review if you read this story, I don't like people who read but never leave a comment... If you find some grave mistakes, e.g. words that are just wrong, or bad grammar mistakes, just tell me. I'm not a native speaker, and I'm always glad to learn something new!

Oh, and I'm a slow writer, due to my work and my horse I only find time to write in the evening - if I find it at all. So don't be impatient, please!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, no copyright infringement intended.

And now... let's get this started!

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**Learning to feel again**

**1. Haunted Nights**

Night was already setting in when he entered the house, and he wasn't surprised at all to find them together in the sitting room, his whole family giving him worried looks – No!, a small voice reminded him painfully, Not the whole family… But George tried not to listen to it as he came nearer to where they were assembled. He was leaving wet spots on the floor, but for the first time in his life, his mother didn't complain. In fact, her eyes were filled with nothing but deep love and concern, and he cast down his eyes so that he didn't have to look at her. He knew he had hurt her by running away so shortly after… He swallowed hard. The funeral. He had never known that only thinking of a word could ache so much.

He was aware of everyone watching him, how he was standing in the doorway in drenched clothes, water dripping from his hair that was plastered at his forehead, and he realized that he had to look as crappy as never before.

"I… I'll just get changed… okay?", he managed to say, adressing nobody in particular. He turned round before anyone could even answer, let alone ask him where he'd been.

George didn't notice the looks his parents exchanged, he didn't see Ron jump up and being pulled back by Hermione, and he didn't hear his little sister calling his name.

He stumbled up the stairs, he needed to get out of these clothes, he didn't want to be reminded of the last hours, all he wanted was to forget it. He had made a promise he wasn't so sure he could keep, but he also knew that breaking it would break him, too…

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He pushed the door open, the room was dark and he turned on the light without thinking, it came instictively – and the moment the bright light extinguished the darkness, he froze, his eyes widening in horror and understanding. His eyes scanned the walls surrounding him, the two beds on each side, the window right opposite him from which someone was staring at him, just as terrified as himself, and he staggered as his feet moved forwards. And the figure moved, too, coming closer, and he reached out his shaking hand, "Fred…"

And it was only then that the truth hit him, and he closed his eyes to not look at the reflexion again, nothing – no one but his very own reflexion.

He felt his eyes stinging again, and he bit his lips to stop them from trembling, but there was no way of easing the sharp pain that ran through his body as he failed to repress the sobs that emerged from somewhere deep within.

Blinded by his own tears, he stepped back, he had to get out of this room now, but where should he go to? He felt helpless and exhausted and in a strange way so entirely furious. Why? The question was burning inside him, why couldn't he act normal for more than a second, why wasn't he able to accept the truth, and above all, why for Merlin's sake was he here and Fred was not? It just wasn't fair, and he remembered what he had once been told, that life was never fair. It was only fairer than death, nothing more.

Suddenly he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and he didn't need to turn around to know who was there.

She was pulling him gently to herself, and he inhaled her familiar scent as he sobbed into her blouse. The sobs came uncontrollably, he was shaking with grief, for the brother he'd lost, and for his mother who was holding him. With a jolt of guilt he realized that he had never allowed her to hold him like this since the day their lives had been changed so dramatically forever.

"Mum, I…", he started, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak. And it wasn't necessary. His hands clenched the fabric tightly as the tears streamed onto it, and with a soothing voice she murmured words of comfort that slowly reached him through the mist surrounding him.

"Hush… hush, my boy…"

She was crying, too, he didn't need to see it, he could simply tell by the way her shoulders were shivering violently at his chest. He had never been more aware of how he had outgrown his mother, but he had never felt more fragile in her arms before, either.

He tried to calm down, to breathe somewhat regularly, but he wasn't able to fight down the sobs yet. He swallowed hard, he had to say something, but the words wouldn't come out.

"George", his mother said tenderly, her voice tear-soaked but stronger again, "if you don't want to…" She hesitated, as if she was unsure what words were best, and finally George looked at her. "Well, if you want to stay here… I'd be more than glad to have you around, love."

How could she know? He had planned to return to Diagon Alley in the same night, but now he didn't think he'd make it through the night alone. But on the other hand the thought of sleeping in this room scared him to the bone, he wouldn't be able to sleep here when the ghosts of the past were hiding in every corner.

"Maybe… you could share with Percy?"

She asked this carefully, and George didn't reply immediately. The thoughts whirled inside his head, he had never shared a room with anyone but his twin, and wouldn't it be treachery if he did it now, wouldn't it be better to go home? But as he saw the silent plea in his mother's eyes, he shoved the thoughts aside. He had made a promise to Fred, but that did definitely not mean to forget about those who were left to him. If he couldn't do it for himself, he could still do it for his mother.

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The house was quiet. Even the ghoul seemed to be asleep, George thought while he was lying awake, staring into the darkness. He was wrapped in the bed sheets, but he still felt cold, and he couldn't sleep – something he was getting used to with every passing night. He turned on his right side, his face buried in the pillow. The silence was like thunder in his ear, he wished for something to disturb it, because it made the voices in his head even louder, and he couldn't do anything to shut them out.

But then, when he didn't believe he'd ever get rid of them, he heard a noise from the other bed in the room, a voice that made him stir immediately.

"No – no – no!"

George gazed over at his brother who was turning around from one side to the other in his bed, and the words he was muttering made him stay still in terror.

"No! Fred, no! No!"

The last word came as a quiet scream, a sound of so much agony that George began to shake just like the silhouette he could see on the bed. With a tip of his wand he switched on the light. He managed to get up slowly, and he approached Percy's bed without even knowing what he wanted to do.

"No, no… It wasn't, please, it wasn't… I didn't want it, no, please…"

Percy's voice turned into whimpering, and although his eyes were shut tightly, tears were leaving shimmering traces on his face.

Carefully George sat down on the edge of the bed, insecure about what to do. But without thinking of it, he suddenly watched himself stroking his elder brother's shoulders, and he heard his own words penetrating the silence.

"Hey… it's okay mate. It's okay."

The shaking eased, he could feel Percy's muscles relax underneath his hand, and after a while he opened his eyes, looking at his younger brother in confusion.

"George, what are you…"

George forced himself to a weak smile as he watched the pale face on the white pillow.

"You had a nightmare, I guess. Just some bad dream."

But something told him that he had just witnessed more than a simple nightmare, and the way Percy looked at him, terrified and sad, proved him right.

"I was there", Percy choked out, and his eyes filled with tears again. "I was there, and… and…" He closed his eyes, and George sat there, a part of him wanting to hear it, another part urging him to just go back to sleep. But before he could even make a decision, his brother opened his eyes again, and his words were filled with despair as he stared at George.

"I couldn't do anything, he was lying there, and he… he… he was smiling at me, George, and I was screaming, but he wouldn't get up, he just wouldn't get up…" He was crying now, and George barely noticed himself gripping the bed sheets tightly. "I have those dreams every f-fucking night, it's always the same, and he stares at me, telling me it's… it's my fault, and he asks… he asks why I didn't protect him, but I tried, George, believe me, I tried… I tried…"

"Hush", George whispered, and he was surprised that he was able to say something at all with his face all wet from tears, "I know you did."

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He remained sitting there for almost an hour, watching his elder brother drifting to sleep in the end, the expression on his pale face at least a bit less haunted than before. He had told him the truth. Although as a first emotional reaction after the numbness, he had tried to blame Percy for what had happened. After all, he had been there, so why hadn't he done anything? Why – and his insides twisted painfully as he remembered those thoughts – hadn't it been him instead, him who had already brought so much hurt to his family? But he had had to realize that it wasn't that easy. He couldn't blame Percy for not saving Fred. At least he had been there – and that was more than he could say for himself. No, Percy was definitely not the one to blame.

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	2. Decisions of the Heart

Another chapter, and longer than the previous one! Hope you like it! Thanks so much for your reviews, they make my day!

Still don't own Harry Potter.

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**2. Decisions of the Heart****  
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When he appeared at the kitchen table the next morning, George hadn't slept at all, and by the way his mother looked at him, he concluded that it was visible. He wasn't the only one she seemed to be worried about, though. George sat down without saying a word, scanning the faces of the other persons sitting there. Percy was worst of all, he thought, he had dark circles around the eyes that appeared even deeper beneath his thick glasses. His face was still pale, and George realized that although he had finally found sleep, he had not slept well. Ron was staring at his slice of bread with bloodshot eyes, obviously not feeling hungry at all. Charlie and Harry didn't look any better. Suddenly George noticed that there were people missing.

"Where are Dad, Bill and Fleur?", he asked nobody in particular.

"Arthur's had to go to the Ministry", his mother answered in a disapproving tone. "Bill and Fleur have gone back to Shell Cottage, they just didn't want to wake you up."

For a blink of an eye George pondered about whether to tell her or not that he hadn't been sleeping, but then decided to not say anything. He just nodded his head, noticing that Ginny and Hermione, too, were still missing.

But he had to get used to that feeling, didn't he? He had to face the fact that from now on he would always be missing someone. And this someone wasn't just oversleeping. Sleeping forever, maybe. Yeah, that fitted Fred, sleeping late just to appear in the kitchen with uncombed hair and in his oversized shirts, smiling tiredly at everyone and trying to ignore their mother's look.

George shook his head and blinked several times to prevent them from starting to sting again. He had to think of something else, anything, as long as it didn't include…

"George?"

But there was no episode in his life that didn't.

"George?"

It was only then that he heard his mother's voice, and he looked up at her.

"What is it?"

"Will you stay a bit longer, or are you going to return to London today?"

The table had become uneasily quiet, and George was aware of everyone staring at him - his mother with hope, Ron with anxiety, Percy… there was no word to describe what his eyes were reflecting, it could have been anything and nothing at all. It scared George to see his elder brother looking like that, and he quickly turned his head to his mother.

"I think I…"

But he couldn't go on. He didn't know what he was thinking, because he hadn't found out what was worse yet – the presence of his family and their grief, or the silence of being alone. He couldn't tell what was better for him. But when he looked at his mother, he knew at least what was better for her.

"I guess I'll stay."

"Good", she said delightedly, and immediately she hurried away up the stairs. He watched her disappear, and he wondered if it had been the right decision after all.

He got up hastily, hitting the desk so hard that the cup of now cold coffee almost toppled down.

"I… I'll go for a walk, okay?"

"Alone?"

He froze. He hadn't adressed anyone in particular, but Charlie had asked this all the same. George stared at his brother, trying to grasp the meaning of what he had said, not believing what he had heard. Charlie was staring back at him, as if he had only just realized his own words. And adding to the permanent sadness he had gotten so used to, George felt a strange kind of anger stir inside him.

"Yes, alone. Just me." He emphazised every single word, and he saw Charlie's face whiten and his eyes filling up with tears.

"George, you know I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, you didn't? Now _that_ definitely changes everything!", he replied sarcastically.

"Please, I…"

"I know, you didn't _mean_ to. Just like you didn't _mean_ to let us down when push came to shove, did you?"

The words were leaving his mouth before he could even think about it, all he knew was that he wanted to hurt someone, only to erase the hurt he was feeling inside. He ignored the shocked faces of Harry and Ron, he didn't hear Percy's careful voice, "George…", and he didn't notice his own voice getting louder.

"Just for you to know, thanks to that fucking day I will _always_ be just me, wondering if somehow _someone_ could have done something, and everytime I'll be thinking about it, I'll see his face smiling up at me, I'll see everyone huddled around him, crying over him, feeling guilty because they were there to save the world but couldn't save _him_, we were _there_, not like…"

"George!!!"

A painful cry pierced his rage, and he looked away from his brother to where the voice had come from.

Ginny was standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, her body motionless. Her eyes were set onto him, and he couldn't stand looking at her, but there was something in those eyes that forced him to do so anyway.

"Ginny, I'm… sorry", he ended lamely. But she just shook her head, and he could see the sadness written all over his little sister's face as she turned on the spot. Harry got up quickly, following his girlfriend. Hermione, who had been standing behind Ginny, gave Ron a helpless and almost pleading look, and he didn't hesitate to go over to her. George watched how he took her hand, squeezing her fingers, how he returned her look with so much affection that it hurt George to the innermost.

He didn't know what to say anymore, all his words seemed to have gone into nothingness, and he stepped back from the table, shifting slightly. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Charlie who was still staring at him with his eyes wide open, the hurt so visible on his face that George's insides twisted and ached.

He crossed the kitchen until he reached the backdoor, he didn't look back as he went out into the garden. He inhaled the scent of the flowers, of the green grass underneath his feet, and he remembered the time that seemed so long ago now, how they had been sitting here after the wedding. It had been a wonderful summer day, he could still hear them laughing and singing, enjoying the day and the summer night. And now it was summer again, and there was nothing but silence around the place he used to love.

"Dammit!", he yelled and kicked a stone on the ground. It gave a loud shriek and ran away. Oh, he had always hated them garden gnomes. He had never thought that the day would come when he wished to go back to the times when they had all de-gnomed the garden together. It wasn't that far away, that time. Not even a year. He clenched his fists tightly, biting his trembling bottom lip.

Why the hell did he fight back the tears almost every single minute of the day? Why was he acting this way?

George already regretted the things he had said to Charlie, it had been nothing but a spontaneous, desperate outburst, a last resort to escape his own pain. It hadn't been right, he knew that, but there was no way to make it undone. Nothing could be undone once it had happened.

And even if saying 'Sorry' could somehow make things better – he simply didn't know how to do that. He couldn't tell why, all he knew was that he couldn't look Charlie in the eyes. Maybe it was because he looked just so much like Fred, he thought, after all, Charlie had always resembled them most. And while George had managed to avoid mirrors for days now, he couldn't help but see a fragment of Fred in his older brother. And if this hurt him so much, he didn't want to think about how much it had to hurt the others to look at _him_.

He sighed and wiped his eyes again, but they were dry now, and he was thankful for that. He was sick of crying, sick of feeling so bad, sick of… well, nearly everything these days. Who could have known that life could change so much within only a few days? Nobody could have known that, because none of them had ever experienced this kind of pain. He remembered the night when Mad-Eye Moody had died, he could still hear Bill's cracked voice, the shock in Harry's eyes, the way his father had looked at his children. Had he known, at this point of time, that they would have to deal with greater losses less than a year later?

No, he hadn't. This, at least, George knew for sure. Because this had, after all, been something beyond their imagination. They had lost friends along the way – but losing one of your own was so much harder, and throughout the years, ever since that fateful night of Voldemort's return, they had all silently agreed not to think of anything like that. But it had been pointless, deep inside they had been afraid, not even he could claim that he hadn't. But somehow, he had never quite worried about Fred. When Dumbledore had died, and Bill had been so cruelly wounded, he had been devastated, only wanting his family to be safe. The thought that Ron and Ginny had fought in the castle and escaped danger only by inches had haunted not only him, but Fred as well. It was one thing not being there to fight – knowing that the people you cared about were there was another, and far worse.

There had really been no need to accuse Charlie like that.

Suddenly a noise made him turn round. The next moment he found himself face to face with Ron, who was watching him silently. George didn't move, though, but waited for his brother to do something. But Ron didn't do anything, either, he only kept standing there, in an unusual insecure way.

Finally, George got impatient.

"If you've come here to tell me to apologize to Charlie…"

"I'm not here because of that", Ron replied quite shyly.

"What is it then?" Hell, he didn't want to sound so offensive.

He noticed how Ron was swaying, as if he wasn't sure about what to say.

"Ron?", he asked again.

"It's just…" He hesitated and choked hard before he started again. "You gonna re-open the joke shop?"

"I…", but George's words stopped in mid-air. He stared at his younger brother, and it was obvious that Ron didn't feel comfortable at all.

And neither did he.

Of course he had thought about the shop, between fighting back tears and crying and seeing Fred in his mind's eye, the small voice had asked painful questions. Well, what_ was_he planning to do? On the one hand, he knew that going on with the shop was what he had to do, he owed this to Fred, it was one of the things he had cared about the most – and yet even thinking of selling jokes items to laughing kids seemed so surreal to George that going on with it was nearly impossible.

"I don't think that's any of your business", was the only thing he managed to say, and immediately he felt sorry for what he had just said. Somehow he seemed to have a knack for chosing the wrong words these days, he thought bitterly.

But Ron didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed to understand, and George couldn't help being surprised. Ron had never been known for understanding emotions – or had he, George, simply never noticed?

The two brothers remained silent for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

George was fighting a battle and didn't even know how he wanted it to end. Actually, he didn't want to think about the joke shop at all – it seemed so wrong in his eyes, as if life just went on like nothing had happened. It wasn't right.

And after all, he didn't see how he could face it all again, living a life and a dream that had been meant for two. It had been _their_ dream, and George had never thought about what he would do if some day he would have to dream it alone.

It had just never occurred to him that some day he could be alone, because the word hadn't existed for them. There was no being alone when you had your twin. And now all he had was himself, and he didn't know how to cope with that.

He flinched when Ron broke the silence.

"You don't have to do this on your own, George."

He stared at his little brother, and slowly the words sank in, and again he felt the anger stir inside him, but he wouldn't let it come out, not again, not when Ron was looking so sad and pale – but he just didn't understand, he _was_ on his own…

"He was my brother, too, you know?", Ron said quietly, casting down his eyes as if he couldn't stand George's look. "And so are you."

His words stunned George to the bone, he hadn't expected something so emotional and true from his brother.

He took a step towards him, then hesitated. He didn't know how to reply to this.

"Ron, I…", but his mind was blank, and to his embarassment he felt his eyes fill again. He choked hard to fight down the tears. He didn't want to cry. Not in front of Ron.

"I miss him so damn much, George."

Ron's voice came as a whisper, and the words lingered in the air when George held him close, hearing the silent cries and feeling the hot tears on his shirt. He hardly noticed himself crying, too, it didn't feel wrong anymore.

"I don't know what to do, Ron… I don't know…"

"I just think that Fred… that he would want us… to carry on." Ron's breathing eased, although he was still shivering violently.

"How d'you think you know what…", George started, but then hushed.

'_He was my brother, too, you know?'_

And deep inside, George knew that Ron was right. He had known it all along. Denial didn't erase the hurt, he should have learned that by now.

And hadn't he made a promise, a long time ago? A promise he had sworn never to break.

"I… I could help you… if you want to", Ron muttered, and George had difficulties even hearing him. But his one ear hadn't betrayed him, he could tell by the way Ron was looking at him, with a mingled expression of grief and anxiety and expectation on his face. "I just… I want to do _something_, George!"

George swallowed hard to defeat the lump in his throat. Ron's despair was too obvious, too _familiar_ as well.

And finally, after endless minutes of silence, he nodded. It was just a small movement, but every journey began with one step, didn't it? And seeing how long the road ahead back into life still was, there was no other way but taking that step now.

"Deal, mate!", he said and shook Ron's hand. And if his view hadn't been so blurred, he could have seen his brother's tears streaming down his cheeks. But after all, it didn't matter. It felt just right.

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**_A/N: I think the chapter title sucks, but I couldn't think of anything else... _**

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	3. Open up I

Sorry for the delay, but my mind was on other things the last days. Couldn't really concentrate, so this one is quite short. I wanted to put it all into one chapter, but it turned out that this could as well be part on its own. So there'll be two parts that belong together. It's just that I suddenly noticed that I hadn't included Lee in my stories, and I didn't like that.

Hope you like the chapter, hope the new one won't be so late!

Thanks to MBP, for your support and encouragement.

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**A/N:**_** to open up:** 1. to talk about what you feel and think [... 3. to open a door, container, etc. (from: Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary)_

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**3. Open up I**

It was a hot summer's day, and the streets were crowded as George was walking along. There were parents dragging their children away from sweet shops, couples were strolling down the lane holding hands, some elder witches were sitting in a café and chatting animatedly. He could hear fragments like "…now that it's peace again…", "… do you remember…", "…did you hear about old Stokes…", and George tried not to listen to it, he didn't want to hear it. It was strange seeing all those people acting as if nothing had happened.

But, he noticed, from time to time you could see it. The man and the woman dressed up in black, staring at a little boy while tears were running down their faces; or the young man with a bandaged arm; or you simply looked at the front page of the Daily Prophet which reminded everyone of the past events.

George had become a master of ignoring the head lines over the moving black and white pictures, the words didn't mean anything to him. Of course he was glad that Voldemort was gone, no doubt he was proud of those who had fought and he definitely mourned over the fallen. He didn't need a newspaper to know that – not when he felt the effects of the battle everyday.

After talking to Ron, he had stayed at The Burrow for two days, mainly because he knew his mother needed him around, just like she needed her other children in the house. It seemed to be the only thing to distract her at least a little bit, and if he could make her feel better, George was willing to give his best – even if it didn't make things easier for him.

He had continued sleeping in Percy's room, he had apologized to Charlie, he had made sure to have company the whole day – but he couldn't erase the emptiness inside. Could you erase something that wasn't there? You couldn't erase a hole, could you? But that was it – a hole in his soul, just like the one at the side of his head, except for the fact that it hurt so much more. It was as if he was living someone else's life now, the life of a stranger he barely knew.

And now he was in London again, and he had been sleeping in his own room for a whole week. Well, sleeping was maybe a slight exaggeration, he thought. Drifting in and out of bad dreams was more like it.

As he passed Flourish and Blotts, he caught his reflection in the window, and he stopped for a moment. A pale face was looking back at him, vaguely familiar and yet unrecognizable. There was only one good thing about the state he was in: he didn't resemble Fred anymore. Fred had never looked like that. But he didn't look like himself anymore, either.

George sighed and pressed his lips tightly. Would he ever feel like himself again? He didn't even know if he wanted to.

He headed down the lane, glancing sideways at Madam Maulkin's without really seeing it, until he reached the shop with the colourful sign over the door.

_"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes"_

George had made the experience before that reading words could be painful, but those letters shining down at him were nearly more than he could take. He remembered the day when they had fixed it, how delighted they had been to see this wooden proof of their success – and now it was just one more reminder of what was no more. He choked back the lump in his throat, he tried to breathe regularly, and he apporoached the door. He opened it slowly, trying not to pay attention to the small _"Closed"_ sign behind the glass. After closing the door, he remained motionless for a while, only feeling his chest heaving as he inhaled the air around him. It was still the same. It filled his lungs, he could almost feel the oxygen running through his body, and it was so unreal to be standing there, breathing, moving, being alive.

He straightened and forced himself to look at the shelves surrounding him. If he wanted to open the shop soon, he should better start working now, he decided. Ron had promised to join him the next day, and George was thankful for that. His little brother needed to spend some time alone with Hermione, he knew that, so he had assured him that he would start without him. His mind was determined, but his heart…

He didn't know where to begin.

After taking a deep breath, he went over to the counter. Several leaflets covered the desk, and he threw them away without giving them a single glance. He drew a folder out of the drawer, and for a moment he hesitated to open it. Finally he forced him to do it, and he browsed the pages, barely reading the notes that filled the paper. They were part of the past, it seemed so long ago that they had seriously argued about selling "Skeleton Skin" or keeping on testing them for a while. A piece of paper slipped out of the folder, and George picked it up.

"_Don't forget: Harry July 31 – idea??"_

George stared at the familiar handwriting, scanning every single line of the nearly undecipherable letters. He knew it was Fred's, it had been one of the few things that had distinguished them – but who would ever have thought of comparing their handwriting? And what did it matter now anyway?

He felt the paper crumple in his left hand as his eyes reached the last written line of what seemed to be thousands of notes.

_"Last Laugh Lollipops"_

The words blurred in front of his eyes, and he wiped his face helplessly. Of course it had been Fred's idea, inventing the colourful lollies that made you laugh no matter how down you were. They had never been able to produce them… because sometimes life didn't want you to laugh.

"Are you laughing now, Fred?"

His words were a hoarse whisper, and he wasn't even aware of the tears in his eyes.

"Not as long as you aren't", a quiet voice answered, and George turned round.

"Lee?!"

The figure in the doorway moved towards him, George watched him going slowly, and then his best friend was facing him. They stood still for seconds, trying to read each other's eyes.

"I… I didn't see you at…", George choked, and while he was saying it, he remembered the funeral, how he had been looking for Lee but hadn't found his face. "Where _were_ you?"

Lee cast down his eyes, and he looked so sad that George regretted the accusing tone of his voice.

His friend didn't answer for a while, as if he was struggling to find the right words but finding none.

"In the backrow", he finally said quietly.

George didn't reply, something told him that he would have to be patient and wait for Lee to speak.

"I'm so sorry, George!", he burst out. "I know I ought to have been there, be there for you, for Fred…" His voice quivered dangerously. "But I couldn't… I couldn't look at this… this stupid _box_ – Fred couldn't be in it, he just couldn't!" His eyes were shimmering in the dim light as he stared at George in despair. "And I couldn't look at…", but he stopped before finishing the sentence.

"Me?", George said, surprised about how calm his voice was.

Lee nodded while a single tear was running down his cheek.

"Listen George, I don't mean… It's not… Well, it's just so hard to see you without Fred, you know?"

"Yes, Lee, I do know", muttered George.

Lee opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but then remained silent. And George was thankful for it. He didn't want to hear any more condolences, apologies, and he didn't want to assure everyone that he was okay when they all knew he wasn't.

The two young men stood in the dimly lit room, the folder flipped open on the desk, the sounds of the street outside like the buzzing of bees, so close and yet so far away.

Lee pointed at the papers.

"Maybe I could help you… if it's okay with you!", he added quickly. "I'd understand if…"

But George shook his head and looked at his best friend, finding his own grief reflected in his eyes, and for a second they were three again, three boys ready to discover the world. And now there were only two of them, and they had got to know that life didn't care about plans.

"I'll be glad if you stay, Lee", said George, and he meant it. It surely wouldn't get easier this way, but at least there would be someone to lift him up when he'd fall. Because that was something he couldn't do on his own, no matter how hard he tried.

"Okay", Lee answered, but he didn't move. It was George who stepped forwards, and only then did they finally hug each other. They remained like that for several seconds, because it was easier not to break down when you had someone to hold on to. They didn't have to speak to know this, at least, for sure.

* * *


	4. Open up II

Finally a new chapter. I know it took me quite long, I'm sorry about that, blame the stress at work and my horse lol But you can be sure that this story is far from finished, somehow again this turns out quite differently than I had expected.

Well, I hope you like it, please read and review:)

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**4. Open up II**

The sun was shining through the windows, the shelves were gleaming in the lights that illuminated the room. It was early in the morning, but the darkness of the night had vanished long ago. The streets filled slowly, and from time to time someone would stop at the window and look at the banner above.

George was watching it all from his room above, still in his night clothes, but wide awake, although he hadn't slept well that night. He had opened the window, the morning air was cool on his face, and he shivered slightly. He tried to breathe calmly, but somehow it was difficult that morning.

He was afraid.

He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, of course, but deep inside he knew that it was the fear that had kept him awake, the fear that made him shiver, and it was the fear that seemed to suffocate him.

It had seemed quite right all the weeks ago, when they had prepared the shop for the great day. He and Ron had been working every day for three weeks now, Hermione, Harry and Ginny had dropped in whenever possible, and Percy had volunteered to do the paper work – something all of them hated. George appreciated their efforts, not only because it fastened up the work, but mainly because he knew how much it hurt them. They had all hoped that it would become easier, some people – like his mother – had always told them that work could distract you from stress, but George somehow felt that they had meant it in a different way. His mother definitely didn't get better, no matter how much she tidied up the house, cooked wonderful meals every day and turned the Weasley garden into some sort of paradise; the pain in her eyes was just too visible.

George sighed and his eyes travelled over the street below. It wasn't so long ago that he hadn't had a clue about how many people were awake at 6am, but he had gotten used to watching them by now. He couldn't remember how often he had been standing here during the last weeks, simply being there, passively gazing at the people who kept passing by, feeling a certain kind of envy stir inside him. They looked so _normal_. How could they look like that when nothing was normal at all? The worst day had been one week ago, when two kids had stopped at the shop, just when he was arranging the poster on the window. Two little boys, not older than 8, and mirror images to the last freckle on their faces. George hadn't been able to hear their words, he had only seen the smiles on their young faces, he had watched their parents hugging them, they had laughed together – and he had found himself in a corner of the shop, unable to control the tears.

He tried to erase the thoughts as he finally decided to get dressed. There was no need to go back to bed, he thought. He had just put on his trousers and was struggling with his shirt when he heard a noise from below.

George stood still, he didn't even breathe, but he didn't hear it again. He couldn't have imagined it, could he? Just when he had come to the conclusion that he had been dreaming, he heard it again. Someone was downstairs.

Quickly he managed to finally put on his shirt, and he hurried towards the stairs.

"Don't let it be Percy again", he prayed silently. Somehow he didn't think he could stand the haunted look behind the glasses now.

Finally he reached the lower floor, but it took him a while until he spotted the familiar red hair in exactly the same corner he himself had hidden one week ago. He approached the dark figure in the shadow carefully, and it was only when he was nearly touching him that his brother turned his head. And George suddenly wasn't so sure if he was at least able to stand that.

"Morning George", Ron mumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve.

George forced himself not to stare at the lines on Ron's face, streaks that were visible despite the dimlit light that was filling the room. He tried to sound somewhat cheerful when he asked, "Did Hermione throw you out of the bed?"

But his little brother didn't smile at the lame joke.

Ron kept sitting in the corner, his knees at his chest, his gaze focused on the interior of the shop, staring at the filled shelves and boxes, the colourful toffees, the Fake Wands and Headless Hats. They had got rid off some stuff, like the Shield Hats because, as Ginny had pointed out, nobody would need them now anymore. Nobody had disapproved of doing without U-No-Poo, either. They hadn't even said a word when George had thrown it away, but their quiet nods had been enough.

Without thinking about it, George sat down beside Ron. The ticking of the clock was suddenly unusually loud. Tiny dust particles were dancing in the ray of sunlight that came in through the window. It didn't reach the two boys in the corner.

"Do you think it's right?", Ron finally broke the silence. His voice was low and shaking subliminally.

George closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, Ron hadn't turned his head but was still gazing straight into the nothingness.

He didn't know what to say. He had been asking himself that question for days and weeks now, without finding an answer. Actually, none of his questions had been answered since the battle, so why should this one be an exception?

"I can't help thinking that it's… wrong… going on so shortly after…", but Ron's voice broke before he could finish the sentence.

George swallowed hard, trying desperately to find the right words, words he didn't just say but really believed in.

"I'm not sure about it either", he finally managed to say. "But… but I know that Fred", he noticed Ron wincing as he said the name, "Fred wants… would want us to carry on." He had to bite his bottom lip to stop it from trembling, he didn't want to cry now. "He… he left with a laugh, didn't he, he left to leave behind a world in which everyone could be happy again – didn't he?"

His words were more like pleas, not comforting at all, he didn't have to look at Ron's eyes that were filling again to know that.

"Why was he laughing?", Ron asked hoarsely, as if talking to someone George couldn't see. "How could he be lying there, smiling at us, how… how could he _leave_ us like that? We were there, we all were, why did it have to be _him_, why couldn't it be…"

"Stop it, Ron!", George said sharply. "Don't you dare think like that!"

But he couldn't even blame his brother, not when those thoughts were so familiar to him. He would gladly have put himself into Fred's place, it couldn't hurt more than the pain he was feeling now, and he wouldn't have to see the pain of the persons he loved either.

But after all, he had made a promise, and he had sworn to fight. He would keep it.

"We… we have to see it through now, I guess", he choked. "Look at me, Ron." He didn't know why he had said this, but somehow it was scary to talk to someone who could as well be a ghost. And miraculously, his words seemed to reach Ron, and he turned his head.

"Will it ever stop being so hard?"

George stared at the pale face, the shimmering eyes that reflected his own sorrows and fears, and he had to summon all his strength not to break down. Ron had sounded so helpless, and he was his older brother, so he had to be strong. There would be enough time for his own weakness sometime later. At least he hoped so.

"I don't know, Ron", was all he could manage to say. "It has to, hasn't it?"

Ron nodded silently, snuffled and wiped his eyes again.

"Maybe you're right."

Yes, maybe, George thought as he got to his feet, pulling Ron up with him. It had to get better. If it didn't, he simply wouldn't know how to deal with it.

* * *

Everything was ready, ready for the big moment. 

But George wasn't. And by the looks of Ron he knew that his little brother wasn't ready either. But they had made the decision, they had worked hard, and now they had to finish it to start anew.

George threw nervous glances at his watch. It was only five minutes to 8, and there were already people waiting impatiently outside. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned round, and Percy was looking at him with concerned eyes. George gave him a weak smile as he tried to sound confident.

"So this is it, then?", he asked, bringing up all his willpower so that his voice wouldn't tremble.

"Loads of people out there, huh?", Percy remarked matter-of-factly. George was surprised about how calm their voices were, as if they were talking about the weather or the last match of the Chudley Cannons.

"Yesterday sucked, didn't it?", he muttered, not noticing Percy's confusion.

"What are you talking about, George?"

"The Cannons. That was a desaster, it really was, losing against the London Lightnings, honestly…", he was talking without thinking, just for the sake of distraction. It didn't work. Percy had never been the one to talk to about Quidditch. Actually, they had never had a real conversation at all, George realized. It was strange how things had changed during the last weeks. Fred would have known what he was talking about. But Fred wasn't there. He had to make this on his own. He just didn't know how.

"D'you think we should…"

He hadn't even noticed that Ron had reappeared from his conversation with Hermione and Harry.

George took a deep breath, scanning the room, the people outside, his brothers next to him; he soaked in that moment because some part of him wished he could make it last forever, if he couldn't turn back time he could maybe at least stop it.

But a quick glance at the watch proved him wrong.

"Yeah", he answered slowly. "I think it's time."

But he hesitated. He remained on the spot, looking at his brothers. He knew that there was no need for words this time, that probably for the first time in their lives they didn't have to speak, but he had to tell them now because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do so later.

"Ron… Percy…" He choked hard, seeing the pain in those eyes that were staring at him. "Thank you for doing this with me." Harry, Ginny and Hermione stepped out of the back room, Ginny clutching her boyfriend's hand tightly, Hermione apparently trying to hide her pain. But she couldn't fool him, because they were all feeling the same. George looked at them. "Thank you, too. I really don't know how I could have done this…" But the missing word wouldn't leave his mouth.

He approached the door, and slowly, very slowly he turned round the small sign and finally opened the door.

Children rushed into the shop, their eyes sparkling, their laughter filling the air. He watched them running around, grabbing Skiving Snackboxes, testing samples of Canary Cream, two boys were fascinated by the litte Reusable Hangman that clamoured wildly while stepping up the gallows.

George blinked hastily as he spotted the twins he had seen one week earlier. They were just so vivid and happy, and he wished he could be in their place. Somehow he wished to be in every place but this one today, he thought.

"George?"

He winced in surprise and turned round. His parents were standing in the doorway, smiling at him. But still George couldn't ignore the pained look on their faces as they entered the shop. His mother hugged him briefly, she seemed to sense that one second longer could break him right here and now. His father squeezed his shoulder.

"How are you doing?", he asked carefully.

"Well, I…", George began, wondering what he actually wanted to say when he himself didn't even know what exactly he was feeling. But before he could answer, he felt someone twitch his sleeve. A little girl was looking up at him with bright brown eyes.

"Can you give me one of those Pygmy Puffs, please, Sir?", she asked with a squeaky voice, and pointed at the upper shelf on the right side of the room.

George smiled down at her, shrugging apologetically at his parents.

"Sure I can."

He was just about to follow the child when his father held him back.

"We're proud of you, George."

George knew he meant it. He only didn't know if it was right.

* * *

_**A/N:** When I wrote about the little twins outside the shop, I actually remembered myself not so long ago, when I had read Deathly Hallows, I saw two kids, twins obviously, and I know it's riddiculous but I had to choke hard to repress some tears. _


	5. Men's Night out

Ok, here I am again. This chapter turned out quite differently than I had planned, actually the whole story does right now. But I don't care, maybe this is just the way it has to be. However, I hope you like it, let me know what you think!

* * *

**5. Men's night out**

The last customer had left the shop, and George was just about to shut the door when someone came in.

"Hey Lee!", George greeted his friend. "Bit late for shopping, mate!"

"Sorry", the young man replied, grinning widely. "I didn't mean to spoil your well deserved leisure-time."

The two men hugged briefly, and Lee let his eyes wander around in the shop.

"Everything's fine, I assume?"

"Yeah, business is great, I cannot complain. Ron does, though", he added. "Stupid git, he isn't used to hard work." But he was smiling as he said it. He was glad that Ron was there, he needed him in more than one way. Things were still far from being normal, and George didn't know if they would ever be again, so he was thanksful for having his little brother around.

"What are you going to do tonight?", Lee suddenly asked.

"Tonight?", George echoed rather foolishly, and Lee gave him an irritated look.

"Yes, tonight. It's Saturday, mate!"

"Well, I have some work to do, and…", George started, but stopped. Actually he didn't have any plans at all, but that was none of Lee's business, was it?

Lee shook his head in concern, looking directly at his friend. George felt uncomfortable, he hated that scrutinizing look. It seemed as if everyone was worried about him these days, and he didn't like that at all. There was no need to worry, he was fine. It shouldn't matter to them if he didn't feel like going out, if he spent the whole day in the shop just to have something to do.

"Don't you lie to me, George", Lee said resolutely. "You have to go out tonight, Oliver's got a weekend off and…"

"Why?", George interrupted him.

"Because of his leg, he got it pretty bad, but he said the Mediwitch did a good job, so he won't need the crutches for long. And that girl was hot he said, I think he really fell for her, but…"

"Lee! I wasn't asking for Oliver", George said, ignoring the information on his friend's injury. "But why do you think I _have to go out tonight_?", he asked, imitating Lee's words.

Lee sighed and said, "Because you keep hiding in here, George. And that's not good, not at all.

"I'm not hiding!", George protested. "I have work to do!" But even as he said it, a small voice told him that Lee wasn't so wrong.

"You are hiding", Lee repeated. "George, I know it's not easy, but…"

"Oh, you _know_?" He felt anger stir inside him. How did everyone seem to _know_? He had heard it all before, he was sick of it, because no one really _knew_… But that was Lee, he reminded himself, Lee who had lost his best friend, Lee who had been at Hogwarts that night – he _did_ know.

"Sorry", he muttered. "It's just that… I don't feel like going out, you know? I don't know how to do that, get wasted in the pub where we used to go with…" He choked. He hadn't told anyone before, although he thought that Ron probably knew. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, but he dreaded going to the places that brought back so many memories.

"It's okay", Lee said assuringly. "But… Don't you think that Fred would want you to laugh at least a little?" His voice was careful, and George repressed his urge to tell him that he did _not _know what Fred would want, that nobody did and ever would. There was a truth in Lee's words that he couldn't deny.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I'll come with you."

Lee smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

"I'm glad, man. Really." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Okay, I gotta go, I promised Mom to be home for dinner – and never let down your mother! But who am I to tell you…", and George couldn't help but chuckle. "See you at 8 at The Cauldron? Or do you want to go anywhere else?"

"No, it's fine", George said hurriedly, and Lee looked satisfied.

"Alright, then. See you!" He turned round, and a blink of an eye later he was gone.

George remained standing there for several minutes, trying to shake off the insecurity he had been feeling ever since he had agreed to come. Lee was right, he had to go. But he couldn't erase the fear of the memories and the "Do you remember…"'s, and he wasn't sure if he had done the right thing.

* * *

The pub was already crowded when he entered. He spotted Lee in a corner, sitting at a round desk, a bottle of beer in front of him. George went over to his friend and sat down beside him.

"Where's Oliver?", he asked, scanning the people around.

Lee shrugged.

"You know him. Being in time isn't really what he's best at."

"I've heard that!", a familiar voice shouted. Oliver limped towards them, supported by a pair of wooden crutches. His right leg was in a cast that ended below his knee. George pulled a chair out for him, and the young Quidditch player sat down carefully.

"What happened to you?", George asked. He couldn't remember having seen his former captain injured that badly.

"Well, we had this match against Birmingham, it was a fight, I tell you, and I got distracted…"

"Distracted?", George and Lee echoed in unison. Never had Oliver let anything distract him from a Quidditch match. Oliver grinned at his friends.

"You should have seen that girl, believe me, she's so hot in that Mediwitch robes, whoa guys…"

Lee leant over to George and whispered, knowing exactly that Oliver could hear it, "Someone's in love here, huh?"

"I'm not in love, man!", Oliver protested, and to his astonishment George witnessed the older one blush slightly for the first time in his life.

"Stop denying it!"

"Well, we… okay, we'll have a date", he mumbled, looking both embarassed and satisfied.

"But that's great!", Lee shouted so loud that several people turned their heads.

"Shout it out Lee, someone over in Knockturn Alley might not have heard it!", Oliver said angrily, and Lee and George burst into laughter.

They ordered beer for everyone, which Oliver generously paid for.

Two hours passed quickly, and George relaxed more and more while talking about Quidditch, the concert of their favourite rock band, that would take place in London right after Christmas, and about all the other kind of small talk you needed when you hadn't seen each other for a while. Both Lee and Oliver were tactful enough not to talk about Hogwarts in general and good old times in particular, and George was more than grateful for that. He missed Fred, and no Firewhiskey or beer could change that, not when he would do anything just to have his brother with him. But he knew that Lee and Oliver could in some way relate to that feeling, after all, they had spent much time with Fred, too. He wasn't the only one haunted by memories, although they tried so hard not to show it.

"The forecast for next week is terrible", Oliver said, "I'm glad I won't be able to play. Honestly", and he looked at Lee and George in disapproval, "can you imagine that our coach told us that he doesn't – and I quote – 'for Merlin's sake give a damn about blizzards when there's a match to win.' I mean, is a match more valuable than our health?" He shook his head. "Can _you_ believe that?"

George turned to Lee.

"Hell no, what a sadistic trainer is that, letting his team play when the weather's dangerous, what kind of trainer would do _that_?", and they gave the former Gryffindor captain a meaningful look.

"Oh, wait!", Oliver shouted, "You don't want to say that _I_…"

"No, we would never dare say _that_!", George laughed. "You would never have told us to risk our necks for the sake of the game – not that Fred and I ever listened to you, anyway."

It was only the sudden silence that made George realize what he had just said. Lee and Oliver were staring at him, as if they didn't know how to react, and George felt uncomfortable being the center of attraction all of a sudden. His words echoed in his head, and he was aware of how he hadn't said that name for such a long time. He swallowed hard and straightened up. With his right hand he raised his glass, and after a moment of surprise the others imitated him.

George wasn't sure if his voice would even do its job, he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to say what he wanted to say. Actually he was shocked that he wanted to do that at all, but maybe it was the alcohol in his blood or it was simply about time, he heard himself speaking in a raspy but surprisingly strong voice.

"Thanks for being here with me tonight, mates. I wish there were four of us, and I know you wish that, too, but I think that…" He hesitated. "I think that Fred would be proud of us, and that he can somehow hear us right now." He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, he could see those of his friends shimmering in the dimlit light. "To you, Fred."

"To you, Fred", they echoed, and the sound of clinking glasses filled the silence. And as the three men looked at each other, they were smiling with tears in their eyes.

* * *


	6. Of Scars and Mirrors

Hello there! Finally I've got a new chapter for you, sorry for the delay, but I had a lot of things to do, especially concerning my horse. But after all, this is one of the longest chapters, so I hope that makes up for keeping you waiting so long. Again it turned out quite differently that I'd expected, but however, I've given up on planning my fanfics. _Just going to make it up as we go along..._

I hope you like it, I felt like I needed to include Bill a bit more, I fell in love with that character when I started reading **Bad Mum**'s story.

Read it and tell me what you think!

* * *

**6. Of Scars and Mirrors**

When George woke up the next morning, he wondered for a moment why his head was aching as if he had been hit by a bludger. Then he remembered the last night.

"Damn", he murmured as he got out of bed. He walked over to the window and soaked in the fresh air and the familiar atmosphere of London in the morning time. It was Sunday, and thus the streets weren't as crowded as they normally were. A cat was rushing across the pavement, and old wizard was sitting on a bench reading the "Daily Prophet", and two witches were talking animatedly, but George couldn't hear them. He didn't shut the window, but left it open when he turned round.

He headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water, and while the cool liquid reanimated him, he thought about the meeting with Lee and Oliver. He still didn't know _why_ he had decided to hold this little speech, but it had been alright. And somehow his friends had understood him when he himself hadn't, they hadn't talked about Fred the whole night, but had kept his mind on other things – the small, unimportant things that made life so much easier to take when the big, important things were nearly unbearable.

His mouth was suddenly dry despite the water running down his throat. He choked hard only to find himself aching somewhere deep inside, and he knew that this, at least, wasn't because of the last Firewhiskey at the Leaky Cauldron.

How could it be that he had actually been laughing? It didn't feel right now that he thought of it, it couldn't be right so shortly after Fred had left him, it had not been the time to laugh. But would it ever be?, he asked himself in despair. Would it ever feel right? He couldn't imagine not missing his twin every day, and he wondered if other people ever reached that point of peace, the time when thinking of the lost persons would not hurt as much, saying their names not be so hard, and living each day without them not seem so impossible.

All of a sudden he heard a noise from his room, and he couldn't determine it immediately. He walked back to the bedroom. When he entered it, he heard it again, but it took him nearly one minute to find the troublemaker. It was a tiny owl, looking at him with scared eyes. It had to be quite young, George decided, and he didn't know whom it belonged to. He reached for the paper that was tied around the owl's leg, but the shy bird backed away.

"Hey", George muttered, kneeling down. "Will you come here now?" Inside he cursed vividly, he had definitely never been the one to be good with animals, that had been Charlie's or Ginny's job. "Come on, it won't kill you…" He bit his lip, like he always did when such words would leave his mouth. Even using morbid words could make him get all teary-eyed on bad days, and as he hadn't found out yet if this Sunday was one of them, he would have prefered avoiding such words.

He had given up on the owl. Sitting down on the floor, he banged his head at the wall in frustration. He hated Sundays. Every other day of the week was an inner battle against pain and loss, but it was somehow manageable. Sundays were worse, because he was more alone than ever. Ron was still living at The Burrow and would most probably continue doing so for a long time – Ginny kept joking that it was only because he had never learned how to cook but didn't want Hermione to know -, Ginny spent a lot of time with Harry at Grimmauld Place, Bill and Fleur were at their own home, of course. And Percy… well, it seemed as if he was trying to make up for all the time he had been gone, and was at The Burrow every day.

George stared blankly at the door which was still wide open, and for a moment he thought he'd heard footsteps on the stairs, and he held his breath. Then he realized that it had only been the owl.

_He's not coming back. You're on your own._

He kept repeating the words in his head, and he remembered the time back in their last year at Hogwarts, him sitting in Umbridge's office writing lines, watching the bloody letters appear on his hand. The pain had been bearable, he could deal with that. It was being alone that had been the hardest part. And now the hardest part had turned into his life, and George didn't know if the pain would ever ease.

_"It's alright, it's not so bad anymore."  
"Yeah, see? Ours is just fading away."_

He could see the three boys as if he was looking down at the scene from above; him, Fred, and a little boy with tears running down his cheeks, crying because he had never known hurt in his young life before, seeking comfort in the strong older ones.

Now he was the little boy, but those he had relied on couldn't even find strength for themselves, let alone for him.

Suddenly he noticed that the tiny owl was closer to him than ever before, still frightened, but calm. George reached out his hand again, and after several minutes the animal approached slowly. He could feel the feathers beneath his fingertips, and he didn't dare to breathe until he had finally taken off the letter.

He stared down at Bill's handwriting, his hand shaking slightly.

_Hey George,_

_Do you want to come to Shell Cottage today? It's okay if you want to visit Mom and Dad, though, I'd understand that. It's just that Fleur and I would be more than glad to have you around, I think Mom needs a bit of a rest after having all of us around for so long._

All of us? George bit his lip and shook his head. There would never be all of them in the house again..

_She won't admit it, though, but I know Mom and so do you. Ron will stay with Hermione today, and well, Ginny is with Harry, as usual. I don't know about Percy, but however, just think about it.  
Hope to see you today._

_Yours, Bill_

_PS: I hope it didn't take you too long to get the letter – Floppy's still a bit shy._

George folded the letter slowly and thought hard, ignoring the young owl that had begun to peck at his index finger.

The facts were that he didn't have any plans for the day, that he wasn't even keen on meeting Percy, that he wasn't sure if he could stand the worried look of his father or the pain in his mother's eyes. Not to mention that he hated the silence of the empty rooms here. But on the other hand, he didn't know if he could stand watching Bill and Fleur, either, the happily married couple, two people who had found each other, held each other when things got harder to take.

He gazed at the wooden floor, at the golden patches the sun had painted onto it, and his own breathing echoed in his head. The house was quite but for this vital sign of his and the tiny owl that was still sitting next to him.

"Whatever", he mumbled to himself. It couldn't get worse, could it?

He got up and searched for a pencil. He scribbled a few lines on the parchment.

_Hey Bill,_

_I'll drop by at 2, okay? See you._

_George_

He tied the letter to the owl's leg again and put the bird onto the window sill.

"Off you go, Floppy", he said.

He watched the owl fly away, becoming smaller and finally disappearing in the distance. George turned round, remembering that there was at least one thing he needed to do – get dressed. His oldest brother might be the most tolerant person in the world, but George had the notion that Fleur wouldn't be so pleased to see her brother-in-law still in his pyjamas.

* * *

George Apparated at Shell Cottage ten minutes early, and as he had appeared outside the garden, he didn't go to the house immediately, but turned at the cliffs that were only a few metres away. 

The wind was blowing forcely, and despite the warm sun, George had shivers down his spine. He stared at the sea below, and as he stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, he could see the beach deep down. He had never been afraid of heights, so he didn't care about getting dangerously nearer to the edge. He watched the waves splashing, breaking at the rocks, crawling up the shore only to retreat seconds later. It was a constant flow of coming and leaving, and somehow he felt calmer than ever before. It was fascinating, he thought, standing there witnessing what had been like that for what had to be millions of years.

"Don't!!!"

A fearful cry erupted out of nowhere, and George flinched, nearly overbalancing. He swayed until he felt a firm grip on his shoulder that drew him backwards. He turned around, and Bill was staring at him, horrified. George tried to catch his breath.

"Don't – do – that – ever – again!", he finally managed to say.

Bill was still holding on tightly to his shoulder, and George struggled to get free.

"I know you missed me, but don't you think Fleur might get jealous if you hold me any longer?", he tried to joke, but Bill's eyes remained filled with sorrow, although his grip losened. George staggered backwards, suddenly understanding everything. "Wait, you… you didn't think I'd…" He couldn't go on, he couldn't believe his way of thought, but Bill's look proved him right. "How could you think that…", but again his voice failed.

"I don't know", Bill said quietly, closing his eyes for a second. "I'm sorry."

George gazed at his brother, noticing just how visible the scars on his pale face were. He had never seen them that clearly. But maybe he simply hadn't noticed, perhaps he had gotten used to it? Did that mean that someday it would all fade away, even though it was still visible?

"I didn't really believe you'd do _that_", Bill broke the silence, nodding at the cliffs that were now a few metres away. "I don't know what happened."

"It's okay", George replied, avoiding Bill's look. He didn't want to meet his eye, because then his brother would know that it was definitely _not_ okay. Bill always knew.

The tall man sat down on the ground, his red ponytail shimmering in the sunlight.

"It's a nice place to think, isn't it?"

George nodded silently.

"I used to come here quite often after the battle. That's the only place where I could really be for myself." He took a deep breath, gazing at the blue, cloudless sky. "It's not that I don't want Fleur around, she's an awesome woman, and I need her more than I could say. But sometimes…" He hesitated. "Sometimes I can't stand it."

"Can't stand what?", George asked. He had never heard his brother speak like this before, especially not to him. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk at all.

"Us. Her and me. Being together like this, thinking of… well, thinking of children after all that's happened." He looked up at the younger one, and George could see the despair in the blue eyes. "Is that right? Thinking like that, going on like that? I don't know. But it's the only thing that keeps me sane." Bill's voice was barely audible through the wind, and George sat down beside him. The earth was warm, and the wind was cool on his face, but he didn't feel comfortable. This conversation was heading into a direction he feared.

"It's your right to think of having a family", George said, not looking at his brother.

"I know", Bill sighed. "But I just don't know if…" His voice trailed off.

For a few minutes the two brothers were just sitting there, without saying a word, only listening to the waves rustling far below.

"I don't remember the last words I said to him. That's the hardest part."

George turned his head at Bill, but he was staring straight ahead into the distance. He was pursuing his lips, but George could see them tremble despite Bill's efforts to avoid it.

"I do remember them", he said, and he noticed his brother flinching. "But that doesn't make it less hard. In fact, it makes it worse…" His last words got lost as he spoke, and he could feel his eyes stinging painfully when he tried to get on. "It gets harder to take every single day. Somehow everything always makes it worse." He choked. He didn't want to talk about it, he hadn't done it in weeks, so why now?

"And you don't know if someday something will make it _better_ at last."

It wasn't a question. Bill had said it like only those who felt the same could do. So George simply nodded, thankful that he didn't have to say it himself.

"When I got out of the hospital, I felt lost, too", Bill said quietly. "Not because I had lost anyone, of course. But I felt so… unlike myself, you know? I was insecure, I didn't know what would happen to me after…"

"Greyback had bitten you?"

"Yeah. I was scared, George. Scared that I might never be myself again, that I would never again be able to live the way I used to. I was afraid that I would lose Fleur. And I didn't want to think about it, I wanted to forget, to pretend that it hadn't happened, but I couldn't." His voice was shaking with repressed sobs, and George knew that it demanded all of his brother's willpower not to cry. And it was this which made him lay his hand onto the older one's shoulder, trying to give comfort to him. He fought back the tears as his brother's words echoed in his head – _forget… pretend…scared…_ It was all so familiar to him that listening to Bill's raspy breathing hurt nearly as much as breathing itself.

George suddenly understood that, although their cases were so different, they had still one thing in common: they would never be able to look at themselves without being reminded of the past. Bill's scars might fade within the years to come, but they would never be gone completely. And looking into a mirror would always be painful for him, because not even a missing ear could ever keep up the pretense that he hadn't lost more than that. He would always see Fred's face somewhere in the deep of the mirror, no matter how much he'd try to only see himself, because he just wasn't fully himself without Fred. He never would. This wasn't about trying to be. It was only about coping with being not.

"I just wish I could see him one more time", George said with a quivering voice. "Tell him… tell him that…" His voice broke as he lost the battle against the sobs emerging from his chest. His hand was still on Bill's shoulder, he could feel it shaking underneath his own shivering palm. "I miss him so much, Bill."

His brother didn't reply, and the only sounds were the sea below, the wind on the cliffs and the pain of the two men sitting motionlessly on the ground.

"Will it ever stop hurting?" George's question was carried away by a squall, and Bill touched his own face absentmindedly, tracing the scars on his skin with his fingertips.

"I wish I knew, George. I really wish I did."

The words encircled the two figures on the ground like leaves tumbling in the autumn wind, and the shining sun made the tears shimmer until only silvery lines were left on the tired faces. It was only then that the brothers got up, not talking to each other, simply knowing that it was time to go.

* * *

**A/N: **The part about Fred, George and the little boy is from the movie "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix", just in case somebody hasn't watched the film (the scene isn't in the book). I love that little scene, so I wanted to put it into the story. 


	7. Hide and Seek

Wow, now that's really funny. This was supposed to be a filler chapter, just to go on in time. But somehow that little boy turned it into a direction I hadn't expected, and now it's become so much longer than planned - but well, just have a look and tell me what you think! Thanks a lot to all my reviewers, keep'em coming, you always make me so happy!

* * *

**7. Hide and Seek **

Days passed by, turning into weeks, colouring the leaves on the trees yellow and orange and red. The pavements of London were covered in the bright carpets of foliage, the people who passed by had replaced their shirts by warmer jackets, and from time to time someone would stop and look at the clouds painted on the sky. Autumn was approaching.

George never looked at the sky when he headed for the joke shop in Diagon Alley. Sometimes he stopped, though, to watch the people in the streets, and it wasn't only the wind that sent chills through his body. It was the fact that time would never stand still, that it passed by without a chance for him to stop it; the evidence could be found in the trees getting bare-branched and in the days getting shorter.

He tried not to think of it, he kept himself distracted by work, and his friends and family visiting him more often than ever helped him in the desperate battle of forgetting. But this was a fight he couldn't win, and he knew it.

Actually, he didn't even know what he wanted to forget. Was it the endless hours in the Great Hall? The sunshine on the darkest day of his life? The various little things that reminded him of his loss every single day? But he couldn't forget that, because it meant to forget about Fred, and that was the last thing he wanted… - but remembering was suffocating him more with every passing day.

He tried not to show it, he tried to keep up the pretense that he could somehow cope with it, but inside he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold that up forever. It was only a matter of time until he would break down, and that knowledge scared him even more than the everyday thought of living the rest of his life as one half of one.

"Good evening, Mr Weasley!", someone shouted from across the street, and George looked up. The assistant of the robes shop was smiling at him, waving. He waved back at the young girl, forcing himself to a fake smile. There had been a time when he would have given anything just to have this girl look at him, he thought. But it had been Fred who had talked to her one day, and actually George hadn't cared once he had seen his twin so happy and proud. Now he'd give anything just to see that look on Fred's face once again.

When he opened the door of the joke shop, Ron was nowhere to be seen, and George cursed under his breath.

"Ron!", he yelled. "Ron, where are you?"

"Comin'!"

George heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and a second later his younger brother was looking at him, guilt written all over his face which was nearly as red as his hair.

"Where have you been?", George asked, trying to stay calm. Hadn't he told Ron not to leave the shop? Hadn't he made it absolutely plain that there always had to be someone downstairs? George wasn't the one to mistrust people in general, but when it came to his belongings and earnings, he wanted to be quite sure that no one could take anything away from him. Nobody would ever steal anything from him, he had sworn that – but maybe Ron had again not listened to him.

"Sorry George", the younger one mumbled. "I just had to read the letter I got."

"From whom?", George asked sharply, although he felt like he knew the answer. But seeing Ron blush even more was at least one thing to cheer him up.

"'Mione", was the barely decipherable answer.

George couldn't help but smile slightly. It was strange to see his little brother being in love, acting so grown-up all of a sudden, but still appearing as the child he used to be from time to time. There was only one thing which told George that Ron would never be that child again. It was his eyes that had lost their innocense during the last year.

"I was wondering if maybe I could take off the rest of the day", Ron said shyly. "Of course only if it's okay with you."

His look was almost pleading, and George suddenly realized that Ron needed Hermione to feel like that child again. Didn't they all want to feel like that?

He streched out his hand in order to pet Ron's shoulder, but stopped halfways.

"Off you go", he simply said, lowering his arm.

"Are you sure?", Ron asked, merely surprised.

"Go before I change my mind!", George told him warningly.

"Thanks man!", his brother shouted, beaming at him. "Thanks!"

"Give Hermione my best regards, will you?", George said, and Ron nodded smilingly.

"See you tomorrow!", and with no further words he was gone. George stayed behind, staring at the spot from where his brother had Disapparated. He was alone again.

* * *

The shop was empty, which created one of the rare moments of silence. Normally it was crowded, and George was actually surprised not to have any customers at all. Maybe it's because it's already late, he thought. He gazed out of the window into the twilight. The sun set earlier every day, letting everybody know that winter wasn't far. George didn't want to think about it. Thinking about winter meant to think about snowball fights, Christmas presents and New Year's Eve. It meant to see it all again, as if looking at old photographs, unable to bring back the time that had passed.

George choked and tried to focus on something else. The cupboards had been filled again by Ron, and in his mind George calculated the sales of the next day. Halloween. He would have forgotten about it – or shoved the thought aside, more likely – if it hadn't been for the various decorations in the shops in London.

He didn't want to think about Halloween either.

Suddenly he heard the familiar sound of an opening door, and George blinked hastily, expecting to face Ron again.

But instead, a little boy was staring up at him. He couldn't be older than 6, George guessed.

"Hey", he greeted the brown-haired boy. "I'm sorry, it's nearly closing time."

It was only when the kid came nearer that George could see the tear streaks on the small face. Immediately he rushed over to the child.

"What's happened?", he asked tentatively, resting one hand onto the boy's shoulder.

"I… I… I lost…", the boy sobbed, appearantly unable to speak.

"What did you lose?", George enquired. When the boy didn't answer, he knelt down in front of him so that they were at eye-level. The brown eyes were tearstained, and almost intuitively he stroked the small shoulder until the shaking finally eased. He gave it another try.

"What did you lose?"

"My… my mum and dad…"

For a shock moment George wondered if the child in front of him was an orphan, but before he could even say something, the boy added: "I just wanted to look at the owl at Eeylops, and I stopped, and when I… when I turned round they were gone… and Liam was gone, too." He rubbed his eyes hard and sniffed twice.

"Who's Liam?", George asked.

"My brother", said the boy. "He's at Hogwarts, you know, but he came home for Halloween. We wanted to buy a costume today, a really scary one…", and again tears dwelled up in his eyes.

George didn't know what to do. He was good with children as long as they were laughing and experimenting with the joke stuff. He didn't know how to deal with a child's tears.

"Do you know where your parents and your brother wanted to go to?" It was the only question he could think of, but the boy just shook his head. George sighed silently.

"What's your name anyway?", he asked.

"Sean. Sean O'Malley."

"Okay Sean", he started, but stopped speaking when he realized that he didn't have a clue about what to do. There was something about this kid that made him feel uncomfortable, but also filled him with a strange kind of warmth, and he didn't know what to make of it. The brown eyes were seeking for help, and George tried to put himself into the kid's position. It wasn't as difficult as he had expected actually, and that realization hit him hard.

We both need someone we've lost, he thought. And he looked into the shining eyes, and somewhere he thought he could see himself. The difference was that he didn't know who to ask for help.

"I guess it's best to wait here. Your parents won't be far away, I'm sure. They'll find you."

"D'you promise?", Sean asked.

"Yes, I do", George replied, trying to make his voice sound somewhat reassuring. But the boy didn't seem entirely satisfied yet. "What is it, Sean?", George asked, seeing sorrow in the brown eyes.

"Liam… I bet he'll laugh at me for getting lost…", the child mumbled, his cheeks blushing slightly. "I don't want him to laugh."

"He won't. Just…", and suddenly he had an idea. "Just tell him you played Hide and Seek! If he doesn't find you in time, it'll just show that you're better than him!"

Sean began to smile, and George felt rather proud of his idea. He couldn't remember the last time he had made a child smile with mere words. The boy looked around in the shop, probably realizing for the first time in what kind of place he had ended up. The kid's eyes grew wider as he scanned the shelves filled with various kinds of colourful objects.

"This is a great place to hide, you know?", he finally decided, not even looking at George.

"Yeah", George said. "I know."

"Liam always says that you can't hide forever, though", Sean added after a couple of seconds. "He says he'll find me in the end."

"Let's hope that he'll find you today, then", George said. "But till he does, would you like to taste some of those sweets over there?" He pointed at several glasses filled with brightly shining toffees, and the boy nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, wait a minute."

George stood up in order to pick out some of the harmless toffees – those that made your nose turn into a pig's snout or made your face turn into shades of blue and green. He handed them to the kid and watched him laugh out loudly as purple feathers began to grow out of his head.

"That's so cool", he shouted in delight, and George smiled.

"Do 'ou 've bro's and si'ers?" Chewing and speaking at the same time was obviously a problem for the little boy, so George waited until he had finally swallowed the toffee.

"Pardon?", he said, and the kid looked rather guilty.

"I was just asking – do you have any brothers and sisters?"

Suddenly George had the feeling that all air had left of the room, he found it so hard to breathe, and he choked.

"Brothers. And a sister. Big family, us Weasleys."

"How many brothers do you have?" The curiosity was written all over the boy's face.

For a moment that seemed like eternity, he hesitated. What was the answer actually? It wasn't that difficult, he told himself. He used to have five, minus one made four. But wasn't the one still his brother after all? Because if he wasn't, then he wouldn't make him cry and feel so much pain – would he? He would be nothing but a stranger, but a stranger could never do that to him.

"Five. I have five brothers."

"That's a lot", the boy smiled, his face turning checkered in blue and yellow.

* * *

George was so lost in watching the kid trying out all kinds of toffees that he flinched when suddenly the shop door burst open.

"Sean!"

A lanky boy was running over to the child, and somehow George found him strikingly familiar.

"Liam!", Sean shouted.

"Where have you been?", the older one asked with a worried look on his face.

"Playing Hide and Seek", the little one answered, winking at George, who grinned back while trying to find out where he knew the brother from.

"Well, I got you, didn't I?", the older one grinned. Then he turned to look at George, and his smile faded. "You're George Weasley, right?"

George nodded silently.

"I'm in Ginny's year", Liam explained. "Ravenclaw."

"Then you must've known Colin." George didn't know why the tiny 6th year boy came to his mind, but he knew that he would never forget the pale figure being laid down onto the floor by a silently crying Oliver Wood.

"Yes, I did." The boy looked down at Sean for a second, but the kid was still fascinated by the fake wand George had put into his hand. "I'm sorry that your brother's… gone", he finished after hesitating shortly, appearantly not wanting to use the word "dead"in front of the child.

Sean took his eyes off the wand that had just turned into a rubber mouse, and looked from Liam to George.

"Did you get lost, too?", he asked with his childish voice, and George swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. But before he could even answer, Sean smiled at him. "No, you didn't. You're just playing Hide and Seek, right?"

"Sort of."

"But you know, in the end he'll find you", Sean said, squinting at his older brother. Liam took a deep breath and knelt down beside the kid.

"Sean, sometimes… sometimes we cannot be found." He bit his lip and avoided George's look, and he was grateful for that because the last thing he wanted was to cry in front of those two boys, but he feared that he would do exactly that if anyone looked at him right now. "We keep hiding, but no one comes to find us."

Sean seemed to reflect on his brother's words for quite a while, just long enough for George to pull himself together. He saw the child's eyes set upon him, and the small voice burned deep into his skin as Sean said: "Then you should stop hiding. Maybe someone else will find you."

"You're a smart kid, Sean", George remarked, clenching his fists in his pockets so much that his fingernails pierced the skin. He focused on that pain, because perhaps that could somehow make him not feel the other.

"We have to go", Liam said, blinking twice without succeeding in hiding the shimmer in his eyes. "Mum and Dad will be glad that you're back."

Sean nodded and smiled at George.

"Goodbye Mr Weasley."

"George. Just call me George."

"Goodbye George."

The boy took his brother's hand, and Liam shook George's hand with the free one.

"Thank you, George."

George stayed in the doorway, waving as the brothers went down the street and were soon out of sight.

"Who was that?", someone suddenly asked, and George jerked. He turned round and faced Lee who was staring at the same direction as he had.

"A boy", George said quietly. "Just a boy."


	8. Falling Stars

This took me much longer than I had expected, I hope you don't mind. This one was very important for me and I wanted it to be right, you know? It might also raise some question, so please red the A/N at the end, okay?

Oh, and I've made another vid, a tribute to the fallen. I'd be glad if you have a look at it, it's with clips this time, not only pics. I don't know how to put a link into this doc, sorry, but just enter "harry potter littledarky" at Youtube.

But now, read and (hopefully) review!

* * *

**8. Falling Stars**

During the next day, the little boy called Sean didn't leave George's mind, and he noticed himself looking out for the kid while going down the streets of London. But he didn't see him again. Maybe it was only because all children seemed to be disguised that day, though. As George turned right into Diagn Alley, he spotted a group of laughing skeletons, none of them older than ten. He hurried for the shop, relieved when he finally closed the door behind him.

Halloween. He couldn't shove the thought of it aside now, not with the lit pumpkin lanterns in every window and children running around, smiling all over their masked faces. He went over to the window and gazed at the people outside. He had lost count on how often he had done this during the last weeks, and he didn't care anyway. Sometimes that helped to make him feel at ease and that was all that mattered. But today it only hurt.

He would have given anything just to free his mind from the memories that were whirling inside his head, but on the other hand he knew that they would always be there, because he treasured every single moment that lingered there like photographs on wooden shelves. He didn't want to forget. He just wished to be able to remember without hurting so much.

He had used to love Halloween. All of them had, of course, but while Ron and Ginny (he couldn't remember Bill and Charlie going from door to door, let alone Percy – somehow the latter had never really liked it as much as the others) had been keen to get as many sweets as possible, for him and Fred it had always been the other way round – they had seized the chance to play as many tricks on people as possible. Every angry yell from the door a triumph, every smile on the other's face more important that a thousand words. They would never be on their own, never be seperated. Fred and George. Gred and Feorge. Forever.

But forever was gone, and he was left behind, feeling as empty as the orange jack-o-lantern on the counter. He hadn't lit the candle yet, and somehow he didn't feel the need to do so any time soon.

He swallowed hard as he saw a group of children approaching his door, and before they could even ring the bell, he thought of putting a Colloportus spell on the door, seeing that the kids weren't allowed to open it by magical means. But he couldn't do that, it wouldn't be right, he would have to see this through. He had done this before, hadn't he?

George opened the door, and three pairs of eyes were looking at him, and their voices were so happy in the setting October sun that his throat constricted.

One of the boys opened a little bag.

"Trick or treat!", and the others joined in the chorus. "You can either give us some of those sweets" – he pointed at the toffees in the glass boxes – "or… or…" He struggled to find the right words.

"Or what?", George said mockingly. "What are you gonna do? Do you even know who you're challenging, kiddo? You dare theat the invincible Weasley twi…"

His voice failed before his mind even realized the words or his attempt to look sideways at someone who wasn't there. He stared blankly at the children, none of them understanding what was going on, and he didn't know how to say anything else. The lump in his throat made it impossible to breathe, let alone speak. He swayed on the spot, intuitively reaching for the shelf that was nearest to him. He needed something, anything, to hold on to, and he grabbed the wood tightly with his hands. It felt so horribly familiar, but right now he couldn't remember the reason, and somehow he was thankful for that.

"Are you alright, Mister?", one of the children asked worriedly, and George nodded hastily, forcing himself to speak.

"It's just… just your costumes… scary, really… here, c'mon, have those, take them…", and he handed them the whole box of shrink-wrapped toffees.

"Really?", the kid asked in disbelief, and when George nodded again, unable to speak, the three boys beamed at him in delight.

"Thanks a lot, Mister Weasley!", and they turned round fast, as if they were afraid that he might change his decision.

But George was in no condition to care about them. He didn't care about anything, actually, anything but… He wouldn't let this thought enter his mind. He would control himself, he would be strong, and he would act like every normal person would do on a day like this.

What _was_ normal these days?

He was standing in the highly decorated room, still clinging to the shelf as if it was his lifeline. His hands were already aching. And suddenly he remembered when he had felt this way.

_The wooden casket… magenta robes… a smile… not letting go…_

And as he collapsed onto the floor, he couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and the lump in his throat dissolved with every sob that shook his aching body.

He had to get away. There was no way he could stay here any longer, all his senses told him to run away, and he was just too willing to obey. But he didn't want to leave the shop, not now when children were hoping to get nice treats, it would be bad for business if he just shut the door.

With a shaking hand George raised his wand. He needed to inform someone, and it had to be quick, and he only knew one way to do that. But he hadn't done that in a very long time.

_Something positive. Think of something positive._

He closed his eyes in despair, trying to find the happiest memories somewhere in the deep of his mind, but how could he think of something positive if every single memory caused so much pain and sadness?

_Something. Anything. He wouldn't want you to have no happy thoughts at all._

He took shallow breaths, his head leaning against the cold wall.

_Quidditch. The Quidditch Cup in his fifth year. The shining golden cup in his hands._

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silver light arose from the tip of the wand, a thick mist that transformed into something more solid, and George watched as the silvery eagle spread its wings and vanished out of sight.

Still shaking slightly, he stood up. He only had one place to go to.

* * *

He hated that road. He loathed every little pebble beneath his feet, he detested the trees and the flowers and the all-encompassing silence. And still he kept on walking, listening to the sound of his feet finding their way to the place he was aiming for without knowing the reason. 

The sky was already darkening, soon the night would set in, but he didn't care. He approached the grey stone with the black engraved lines, there were flowers on the ground, covered with leaves that laid peacefully on the dark earth.

For a couple of minutes, George just stood there, staring at the scenery at his feet. His eyes found the letters on the stone, his fingers touched the cold earth as he knelt down onto the ground.

"Hey Fred." His words were just a whisper in the autumn breeze, and he swallowed hard when he felt his eyes sting again. "I'm sorry I haven't been here lately, but… I had a lot to do…" Even as he said it, he closed his eyes in shame. He had never lied to his brother. "No, that's not true. Sorry. But… it's just that I… I couldn't do that. Face it. This."

He nodded at the grave, at the tomb stone, at the flowers that were already withering, sensing the winter.

"Dammit Fred, I… I don't know what to do."

He had never wanted to say it, who was he to make confessions at a place like this, but he couldn't take back the words, and once he had started, he couldn't stop.

"Believe me, Fred, I'm trying, I'm trying every fucking day, but it's so damned hard and I… I don't want to disappoint you, Fred…"

Tears were finding their way down his cheeks, and he didn't wipe them away. They dropped onto the ground and were gone in the blink of an eye.

"I need you to be here, Fred. How could you let me down like that – how could I let you down…"

"Do you really think you did?"

"I wasn't there when…", he stopped, just realizing that someone was standing behind him. And it took him several more seconds to recognize the voice. It was only then that he finally got up and turned round.

"Alicia." He wasn't able to say any more, and he was aware of the tear streaks on his skin, and he wondered if she had heard the rest of what he had said, too.

"Hey George." Her voice was a bit deeper than usual, as if she was fighting to say anything at all. She came closer until she was standing next to him, staring at the stone in front of her. He avoided her look, but when he glimpsed sideways, he noticed that she wasn't looking at him, either. Her brown eyes were set onto the tomb stone, and to his horror they were filling way too fast for him to handle. He didn't know what to say. For the first time since he got to know Alicia, he was lost for words.

She took a shaky breath and turned her gaze away from the grave, looking at him instead.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?", George managed to ask in a croaky voice.

"Disturbing you." She choked. "I just thought I'd… visit him, you know? I haven't been here since…"

"It's okay."

There were so many things he wanted to say, but he only found those words. They seemed to be enough.

"There's a bench over there", Alicia suddenly said. "Maybe… you would like to talk?"

He looked at her in surprise. He hadn't come here to talk, he had come to… well, what _had _been the reason? He didn't know. He shrugged half-heartedly.

"Sure."

"You don't have to", she said quietly. "I'll leave you alone if you want me to."

Alone. There was the word again. He didn't want to be alone.

Without saying a word, he went towards the bench that was only a few feet from the grave. He sat down, and she did the same. They didn't speak. The grey stone was still visible from where they were, illuminated by the pale light of the moon. Everything was quiet but for the sound of an owl somewhere in the distance. Even the wind had decreased, covering the place with silence.

"What I just said…"

"…was all I heard." Alicia sighed. "If I had known you were there, I wouldn't have come."

"I'm glad you did." He meant it. "Why are you here, anyway? Don't tell me it's just for…"

"No. I came here for my grandmother. She died last year. I used to visit her regularly, but when Fred…" She trailed off, but George understood.

For a moment neither of them spoke, and there was silence again.

"You didn't let him down, George. You never did."

She was staring straight ahead into the darkness as the words left her mouth, and she didn't move at all.

To his horror, George felt the tears dwell up again, and he fought had to restrain them. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel the pain. He didn't want to feel anything at all.

"You did what you had to do, and so did he. If you had been there, who knows what might have happened…"

"He might not have died", George said hoarsely. "He might…"

"We might have lost you, too." Her voice was trembling as she spoke, and he felt himself starting to shiver dangerously.

"But it doesn't feel right", he whispered, burying his face in his hands as he lost the battle against tears, and sobs began to shake his body. "It just doesn't feel right…"

"It never will", Alicia said quietly. "I… I don't want to tell you all that 'I know what it feels like, I understand you' kind of stuff. It's not true. I do _not_ know, I do _not_ understand. I can't even say I wish I did."

George lifted his head a little, not hiding his tears any more, and stared at her in surprise and sudden affection. He hadn't expected her to say that. Alicia smiled sadly, wiping a tear away. She looked at the starry sky, at the millions of twinkling dots on the black velvet tapestry.

"When I was a young girl", she said, "my mother told me that the stars at the sky are the smiles of the ones we've lost along the way. They can watch us from up above, but never come back. Most accept it. But some don't. And those are restless, because they know that they are needed by the ones they had to leave behind. And they try to reach us and light our way when we're lost. Everytime we silently cry for help, a falling star comes down to earth to shine for us. That's how we know that those we love never really leave us."

Tears were silently running down her face now, and George didn't dare to ask who she was crying for. Her grandmother? Fred? Someone else he didn't know? But he knew that, in this moment, for the first time he didn't only cry for Fred, for the part of his soul he had lost. His tears were spilled for Tonks, for Lupin, the parents that would never see their son grow up; they were for Sirius and Mad-Eye Moody, for Dumbledore, for Colin Creevey and everyone who had died for the living; and they were for those that had been left behind.

They didn't even touch each other, but still George felt like being closer to her than he had been to a person since the day he had been torn apart. It felt good. He winced as Alicia inhaled deeply, finally managing to control her sobs.

"I need to go back", she said quietly. She stood up, and George followed her. Simultaneously they turned their heads at the grave, at the stone and the flowers, and when they looked at each other again, George could see her eyes glistening in the dark. Without a word, he pulled her into a hug.

"Thanks, Alicia", he mumbled as he buried his head in her shoulder, and he could feel her grip tighten. He hardly heard her voice when she spoke to him.

"You used to be a funny guy. Please don't lose that", and he was surprised by the almost pleading tone in her soothing voice.

"I'll try."

"I know."

She let go of him, or was he the one to let go? He couldn't tell.

"Take care, George."

And before he could even respond, she turned on the spot and was gone. He stared at the place from where she had vanished, alone again. But this time it didn't hurt so much.

He gazed at the black sky, and as a silvery tail crossed the starry firmament, a little smile lit up his face. He was ready to go home again.

* * *

**A/N: **I know that this chapter might seem like a shipper story. But actually, I haven't decided that yet. Right now, I don't think George is ready for that sort of thing. 


	9. Saintlike

Another chapter, a bit longer than I'd expected. Please read the A/N at the end, okay?

Thanks so much to my faithful reviewers, **MBP**, **Bad Mum**, love you! ;)

So well, here we go again!

* * *

**9. Saint-like**

When George woke up the next morning, he needed a couple of minutes to get things straight again. Some part of him thought that everything had been a dream, the graveyard at night, Alicia, and the falling star. But there was this scent lingering in his shirt, so familiar and yet unknown, and only slowly did the memories come back – them sitting on the bench, his head at her shoulder, or her head at his? He didn't remember, maybe it was a bit of both. And well, it didn't matter anyway.

He got out of bed, yawning, and went over to the window – he had made a habit of looking down onto the street every morning. The view never really changed, though. But perhaps that was what he liked about it, to have something constant, something that remained the same, no matter what happened.

A chilly wind was blowing up an old newspaper on the pavement, hunting it down the street and out of sight.

His gaze fell upon an older couple, a man and a woman, walking slowly down the alley. It was then that he remembered that he had promised his parents to visit them for breakfast. Molly had insisted on having her family around, and no one had been able to turn her down, of course. George knew the reason, but he didn't want to think about it. He had developed a talent for ignoring all kinds of unwanted thoughts. Unfortunately it never protected him from facing the truth.

He dressed up quickly and flattened his hair with both hands, trying to give himself a somewhat decent look. It was difficult to do that without seeing – but if he had to choose between risking to have his mother tend to his hair, or look into a mirror, he definitely prefered the first. It still hurt, and somehow having only one ear instead of two didn't make a difference after all. Intuitively his hand flew up to the side of his head, he could feel the hole underneath his hair, and he wondered if it would ever feel normal. There used to be a time, he reminded himself, when he had gotten used to it. A time of jokes, of daring plans and light-hearted days. And now all that was left was another hole, the one he would never get used to.

_Holey… holy… saint-like…_

For a moment he was back on the old sofa at The Burrow, feeling dizzy and disorientated, not seeing anything, but hearing Fred's words through the darkness.

_"What's wrong with him?"_

It hadn't been the words, but the obvious fear in his twin's voice that had made him open his eyes. Neither he nor Fred had known that there would come a day when there would _really_ be something wrong. The kind of wrong that couldn't be fixed with some incantation and a smile and a stupid joke.

George clenched his fists and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate only on the place he wanted to go to. He had been a master at Apparition, and besides the fact that it was unnerving to land at the wrong places, it was also something he knew Fred would make fun of. And he definitely didn't want that.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing at the door of The Burrow. He quickly looked down at himself. No splinching. He smiled slightly, and in that moment the door opened and his father stared at him in surprise. George realized that it was most probably the first time since what seemed like an eternity that he smiled at home. But if Arthur noticed that, too, he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled his son into a brief hug.

"I'm glad you came, George", he said.

George didn't reply. He wasn't sure yet if he was just as glad, so he simply nodded.

Side by side they went into the house, where Molly was already waiting.

"George!", she shouted, rushing over to her son, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she backed away, giving him a scrutinizing look. George knew that she fought hard to act normal, and the way she started to fuss about his hair was almost convincing. But her eyes still gave her away – her eyes, that never really met his. In 20 years he had learned that someone's look could hurt you – but now he had to learn that someone _not_ looking you in the eye could hurt even more.

While he was still wondering about that, two figures appeared from the garden, and a second later Charlie and Percy were standing in the kitchen, too. Percy seemed to hesitate, insecure about how to greet his brother. Appearantly he still felt a little bit uncomfortable with his whole family around, and George couldn't blame him. Finally they just shook hands, and both knew that it was okay. Charlie hugged George and held him a split second longer than he had to, muttering with his voice muffled against his brother's shoulder: "You okay, kiddo?"

"Have to, huh?", he whispered, then said in a louder voice, "Don't call me 'kiddo', will ya?"

Charlie grinned and punched George on the chest.

"As long as I'm taller than you, I can call you whatever I like."

"What do you think I should call _you_, then?", a familiar voice made them turn round. Bill was beaming at Charlie, his look contradicting his mocking words. Even before turning to George, Bill embraced his oldest brother. George couldn't understand what they were saying to each other, but somehow he knew that this was intentional. Bill was pressing his lips a bit too tightly, Charlie was looking too worried, and George decided that it was something only between the two of them. He remembered the day he had turned up at Shell Cottage, and he sighed silently as he thought that Bill was still the hardest to reveal his emotions. If anyone – besides Fleur – could make him feel better, it had to be Charlie.

"Where's Ginny?", Mrs Weasley asked, looking round in the room. "And Ron?"

"Comin', mum!", Ron's voice could be heard from somewhere above. He had to be in his bedroom, and George had the distinct notion that his delay had something to do with the owl he had just seen fly away. There were hurried steps on the stairs, and then Ron was there, cheeks flushed, his lips forming the kind of smile that was so seldomly visible, only appearing whenever Hermione was near, fading quickly when the invisible demons began to haunt him again. For George knew that they did, and Ron wasn't the only one who was still fighting against them. They all were.

"You haven't started yet?", Ron asked in surprise, looking at the table. "Thanks for waiting!" Saying that, he sat down at the table and reached for the toast. "Ouch!", he yelled as Bill flicked his wand at his direction, and a thin silver jet of light hit Ron's hand, making him drop the toast immediately. "What was _that_ for?"

"We are waiting for Ginny, you idiot", George said, chuckling. No matter how much he liked to see his younger brother smile – that look upon his face was even better.

But to Ron's luck they didn't have to wait long. Ginny rushed into the kitchen, her hair tousled, and she had to take some deep breaths before she was finally able to greet her family.

"Sorry Mum, I know I'm late, but there was something wrong with the Flying Bus and…"

"It's okay dear", her mother said lovingly. "Just sit down."

The others followed that order, too, and soon they were eating. But although everybody was talking, something had changed. George couldn't quite define what it was, but there was something Fred had taken with him when he had left. Maybe it was simply the feeling of ease and comfort that was gone, the feeling that had always made the house their home, the place they would go to when everything broke apart. Now nothing was easy anymore, any words could make anyone flinch and get pale, even cry.

"Why didn't Harry come here, dear?", Molly asked her daughter.

"He wanted to visit Ted", Ginny replied quietly, and suddenly everyone was silent. Ron cast down his eyes, and George could only guess that he was trying to hide the sad look that used to creep upon his face everytime the memories flooded back into their lives. He noticed his father and mother exchange quick glances, and the older man's eyes shone suspiciously. He swallowed hard to fight the lump in his throat, but just when he thought the silence would suffocate him, he heard a sound that made him freeze. Ginny was sniffing.

"Excuse me", she choked, her lower lip trembling as she spoke. She stood up hastily, and her chair fell to the floor as she left the kitchen. For a moment everybody just stared at the place where she had sat, and the only sound that penetrated the silence was a quiet sob from where his mother was sitting. Without thinking, George got up.

"George, don't you think…", Bill started, but hushed as George shook his head. He didn't know the reason, but he had the feeling that he had to do this. He just didn't know what 'this' was.

* * *

He found Ginny where he had expected her to be. He wouldn't even have needed to hear the steps on the stairs to find her.

"Hey", he muttered softly. His eyes scanned the room for no reason at all, nothing had changed up here. There was the same poster of the Holyhead Harpies on the wall, the same pile of girls magazines on the floor. But change hadn't stopped at the dor of this room, either. Ginny was sitting on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and she didn't look at him as he approached her. She just kept staring at a framed picture on the window sill, and George choked as he looked at it.

There they were, smiling and waving into the camera. It had been taken in Egypt, all those years ago, long before everything had started to fall apart. George opened his mouth to speak, but somehow the words he wanted to say didn't come out, and he sat down next to Ginny silently.

"Do you think we'll ever be happy again?", his little sister asked tonelessly, her eyes wet and shiny as she gazed into nothingness.

The question echoed in his head, and it hurt George nearly as much as seeing the tears on his sister's cheeks. He blinked a few times when he felt the familiar stinging in his eyes.

"We'll have to try, haven't we?", he finally said in a raspy, barely audible voice. "Fred wouldn't want…", but he couldn't continue now, and he wiped his eyes furiously. The last thing Ginny needed was her older brother burst into tears. But there was no way to hold them back, and he could taste the salty liquid as it reached the corner of his mouth.

"Damn, I'm so sick of it!", Ginny suddenly acclaimed, getting up from her bed and going over to the window. Her fists hit the glass as she pressed her forehead against the pane, and the photo fell to the floor. "I hate it! I hate it so much!" Her body was shaking, and George watched her helplessly. "I want it to stop, I just want…" Her voice broke as she began to sob, leaning against the window.

"Yeah", said George quietly, feeling the hot tears trickling on his skin. "So do I."

Ginny turned around, and seeing the pain on her face was like staring at a female reflection of himself. He got up and walked over to her, pulling her close as she broke down into his arms.

"If I knew a way to get him back, believe me I'd do it. Even if…", but he couldn't finish that sentence, he hadn't even known that it had existed. And he surely didn't want to think about it, let alone tell Ginny. But she didn't seem to have listened anyway.

"People are staring at me", she whispered into his shoulder. "I can hear them whispering, and they give me that look… and they won't talk to me, but then again they talk about Fred, about Harry, about the battle, how he's such a hero… and they don't understand… they just don't understand…" Her sobs were muffled against his sweater, but her words struck him like a curse.

"I'm sure they do…"

"They don't!", she rejected angrily. "They… they don't know that… they only think about themselves… they don't know that Harry…"

Her voice trailed off, and George didn't push her to say anything else. It wasn't his right to know, not unless she told him. So he waited, and his sister didn't let him down. He could tell that she wanted to talk to someone, that she was hurting in more than one way, more than most of her classmates could ever imagine.

"They don't hear him muttering in his sleep. They don't know how he's feeling – damn, even _I_ don't know exactly how he's feeling!" She let out a shaky breath. "They don't have the faintest idea of how it feels like for me. To hear them saying Fred's name, and then shut up when they see me. To hear them praising Harry for what he's done, without thinking that maybe he doesn't feel like such a hero at all, he's not that tough, he doesn't want to be praised as if he was saint-like…"

George stiffened, and only then did Ginny seem to realize what she had just said.

"Oh George, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay", he forced himself to say. It _had_ to be okay.

"I want it to stop", she whispered. "Everything's so wrong since…"

"Yeah", said George, staring at the black and white picture on the floor, at the broken fragments scattered around it. It would be hard to put the pieces back together. "It is."

For a moment they remained in their embrace, brother and sister, lost in their own thoughts, knowing that they weren't alone with their sorrows.

"Ginny?", George asked softly. "Do you remember how the stars sparkle above Hogwarts?"

"Sure", she answered, her voice sounding slightly surprised. "You see them best from the Astronomy Tower."

George nodded, fighting hard to not let the memories overwhelm him again at the thought of Hogwarts.

"If you ever… feel sad…" Somehow it was nearly impossible to speak now. "Just go up there and… look at the stars." It sounded foolish. But well, he couldn't take back the words, could he, no matter how embarassing it was to tell his little sister to gaze at the sky at night.

"Okay", Ginny simply said, in an almost clear voice. She glanced at him, the tears still visible on her face. "I will."

They parted, still looking at each other. And George could see in her eyes that she needed him just as much as he needed her, someone to hold her when she was losing ground, giving her something neither her mother nor Harry could give.

"George?"

Her voice was getting stronger again, and he was thankful for that, because he didn't know how long he'd be able to find the strength to hold both of them. He looked at her, and she returned it with a mixture of anxiety and sisterly affection.

"When we go to… visit Fred", and at this point her voice started to quiver again, but not as much as before, "when we go there, will you…"

"Yes", George said. "I will."

He would hold her as long as she needed him to. He knew that. He only didn't know who'd be there to hold him when the wind would blow so fiercely between the tombstones in Ottery St. Catchpole on that cold All Saints' Day.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _You know, the day after Halloween is All Saints' Day. I'm not religious myself, but I still like the tradition we have here in Germany. On that day we go to the graves of the persons we've lost and light candles for them. I don't know how you do it in Britain or America, though, but just imagine the Weasley family planning to do exactly this, okay? (Just in case I will _not_ write about it, although I'm quite sure I will.) Oh and Harry will get his part, too, I just haven't figured out when._


	10. Being Held

Wow, that was a difficult chapter... somehow I didn't know how to write it, and I'm not so satisfied with it. I hope you like it anyways. This is especially dedicated to MBP for her support and the nice mail conversations - two lines are just for you, you'll know it when you read them, I hope! ;)

Thanks to all my reviewers, can't tell you how happy you make me:)

* * *

**10. Being held**

The air was cold despite the shining sun. George watched his parents from behind, his mother holding his father's hand as if it was her lifeline. Percy was walking on his father's right side, hands in his pockets. He couldn't see Charlie and Bill who had stayed behind, and somehow he didn't want to glance back. He had someone to take care of, he had made a promise and he would keep it. Although he wasn't even looking at Ginny he knew that his presence comforted her, and that was all he wished for.

Slowly they approached the grave, and intuitively the children stayed behind as their parents moved closer. George stared at his mother, at her falling to her knees, at her shaking body. He couldn't take his eyes off his father's hand resting on her shoulder, the tall man suddenly seeming so small when facing the all-encompassing eternity at this silent place. He choked hard when the wind stinged his eyes, and he blinked a few times because the sun was blinding him. He didn't permit the thoughts that it could be something else than the wind and the sun.

The soft blows carried his mother's sobs over to where he was standing, they echoed in his ear, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Shut it out. Don't hear your mother cry. Don't see your father shake. Don't feel the pain. Shut out the world.

He barely saw his parents step aside, but suddenly Ginny took his hand, sqeezing it slightly while slowly moving towards the grey stone and the red and yellow flowers. Finally he was able to look at her, with his back to the rest of the family, and he could see her eyes shimmer in the sunlight. He tried to smile at her encouragingly, but failed miserably.

Ginny bowed her head, and the wind played with her red hair that covered her face and the tears on her cheeks. George closed his eyes again, and he could see a younger version of the woman next to him, a little red-headed girl on a broomstick, her dancing at the Yule Ball, the form of her Patronus back in his last year. The image changed, turning into blurred pictures of an angry woman, a woman wanting to fight, not willing to leave her family behind. But although she had stayed, she had been left behind. They all had.

"Somebody's been here", he could suddenly hear her whisper. "Do you see the footprints?"

She pointed at the ground, and George could see them, engraved in the earth. Two pairs of feet, one large, one small. They led over to the wooden bench, and George choked as his eyes fell upon the place where they had sat not so long ago.

"Who was it?"

"What?" He stared at Ginny in confusion and shock. He had never told her…

"We are quite alike, you and me", she said calmly, and her brown eyes were set on his. He wanted to look away, but found that he couldn't. There was something hypnotizing about them, and he wondered what it was that made him staring back at her.

"I know it was you. But you weren't alone." Fred. She had the same way of looking at him with this mix of curiosity and sorrow as his twin brother had had. The difference was that he wasn't able to read her eyes like he had read Fred's, and it hurt to know that no one would ever be able to fully understand him wordlessly.

"It was Alicia", he heard himself mutter, and he didn't even know why he was telling her that, in this of all moments, at this of all places.

But Ginny didn't reply, and a strand of hair covered her eyes as she turned round, away from the grave, away from him. He threw a last look at the dark lines on the stone.

"I'll be back", he whispered, and then followed his sister who was standing a few metres away from the rest of the family.

When he came to a halt right next to her, he could see the tear streaks on her pale face. George took a deep breath, and as he exhaled he could see the air turn white in front of his mouth. He was freezing.

"She was just here. Not for me. For Fred."

Ginny didn't answer immediately, but gazed at Bill, Charlie and Percy standing at the grave, their figures mere silhouettes against the sunlight.

"I wish", she said slowly, "that you're lying right now."

George gave her a quizzical look.

"Uhm, and… would you tell me why you're wishing that?"

Ginny nodded curtly at her brothers in the distance.

"I'm not the only one who needs to be held. We're all bound to fall if we don't find someone to hold us."

"And you think that Alicia…" He could feel anger stir inside of him, and he clenched his fists in his pockets. No way he would yell at his little sister the way he had shouted at Charlie, so he hushed.

"I don't know what to think, George", she said quietly. "I don't know what is wrong and what is right anymore, so maybe I should stop thinking. But I can't." She hesitated, looking over at her parents. The two older people were watching their eldest siblings, her mother leaning her head onto her husband's shoulder. "I only hope that we'll all find someone to lean on."

Thus having spoke she turned away, weakly smiling at George before he could no longer see her face. He followed her with his eyes as she went over to her parents. She took her mother's hand, he could see how the two women looked at each other, seeking comfort in each other like they'd always done, mother and daughter.

He heard footsteps and turned round. Bill was slowly walking towards him while Ron and Percy were already going over to the rest of the family.

"Ready to go home, George?"

He looked into his eldest brother's eyes, and he shook his head carefully. He wasn't ready. And by the way Bill was trying to hide his grief, he knew that the tall man wasn't ready, either. But at least he had someone to return to.

"I'll follow you later, okay?", he said quietly, glancing at the now abandoned grave in the sunlight.

Bill nodded, following his look.

"'s alright mate", he said. "I'll tell Mum and Dad."

"Thank you", George replied, smiling at his brother. Without looking back at the rest of the family, he turned to go down the path towards the grave. But someone was already there.

* * *

Charlie was standing with his back to George, and probably didn't even hear him come nearer. If he heard it, he didn't show it. 

Finally George was at his side, and he found himself staring at the black inscription again, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't alone. He only saw the letters taunting him with every single word they formed. He didn't know how he could stand the pain every time again, it hurt to see the truth eternally written on that cold stone. But still he couldn't look away.

_Fred Weasley  
April 1978 - June 1998  
Beloved son, brother, friend, Gryffindor, beater, and prankster.  
Gone But Not Forgotten  
May you Rest in Peace_

"It feels so damn wrong", he heard a raspy whisper, and he managed to avert his eyes.

Charlie was still as motionless as before, his gaze set upon the engraved lines in front of him, and a single tear was silently running down his tanned cheek. George just stared at him, unable to find any words to say. He hadn't expected this, and for a moment he wished he had gone home with the others. But then again he thought it wouldn't have been such a good idea to leave Charlie here alone.

"How could this happen?", Charlie croaked, pain written all over his freckled face. "I mean… he was just a boy… he was twenty…" His voice was filled with pain, the agony echoing with every word he said. "He shouldn't have… nobody should have… hell, _I_ should have…"

"Charlie!" George felt the hot tears in his eyes as he gripped his older brother by the shoulders, but Charlie wouldn't budge. "Charlie! Look at me!" He shook him slightly, not even knowing the reason. "_Charlie!_ Stop it, please!", he choked, desperately trying to supress the sobs he could feel emerging in his chest. Maybe it was the words, or the tone in his voice, he didn't know. But at least Charlie finally turned his head at his younger brother.

"I should have been there, George."

"Charlie, listen to me. This – isn't – about – you. It's not about me. And it's not about what should have been." His voice was shaking like a leafless branch on a winter's day, and he couldn't restrain the tears any longer when he found his own grief reflected in his brother's eyes. "Whatever has happened cannot be undone. No matter how much we wish it could."

"I know", replied Charlie quietly. "But I… I…" He began to sob, only slightly at first, but he was unable to control his breathing that shook his body. "I wasn't even there, George. I was never there, not when… when Bill… Ginny… never…" His incoherent words were barely audible between his sobs, but George understood what his brother was trying to say.

"You were where you were supposed to be. It wasn't _wrong_."

"Where I was _supposed to be_?", Charlie acclaimed in despair. "Hell, I was supposed to be with my family!", and he pressed his lips together for a second. A tear lingered at the corner of his mouth and only continued her course when he opened his mouth again. "You were right when you said that I let you down."

George wanted to protest, he had never said that, but a small voice found its way into his head. He had wanted to say it, he had thought it.

"Charlie, I'm… sorry for what I said to you. It was just...", but he couldn't go on when his voice failed him. He could only look at Charlie, trying to seek some kind of forgiveness in his eyes.

"I can't even blame you", Charlie said hoarsely, throwing a glimpse at the withered flowers at his feet. Then he looked back at George. "I missed like the most important years of my family, and I didn't even see it. And now it's too late. Forever." The last word was drenched in a sob, and without thinking George pulled his older brother close, holding him tightly as Charlie cried on his shoulder.

He wished he could say something, anything just to ease the elder one's pain, but no words could ever do that, he had learned that the hard way.

"You… you were always a part of… of the family", he stuttered, not really knowing what he wanted to say. "You never left us. Please don't feel like you did."

He noticed his own face being wet with tears, but he didn't even attempt to wipe them away. He just held on to his brother's sweater, feeling the soft fabric beneath his palms, and for a moment he thought that it was strange how they all seemed to struggle with the same feeling of guilt. Guilt of not having been there, guilt of not having been able to prevent it. And he realized that this wasn't about forgiving each other. It was about forgiving oneself. And that was maybe the hardest part.

"Charlie?", he asked carefully, trying to hide the weakness in his voice. He failed miserably – but somehow he didn't care. "Fred… he never blamed you for being away. In fact, we sometimes wished we were far away, too – especially when Mum destroyed all our joke stuff back in our sixth year, d'you remember?", and he grinned when he saw a faint smile on Charlie's face which, in combination with the freckles and tears, made the older one look rather odd. "We thought Romania had to be pretty cool, but I guess that changed when those Beauxbatons girls entered Hogwarts. For some reason we suddenly prefered France." Charlie made a noise like a mixture of a chuckle and a sob, and George could feel the muscles underneath his hands relax slightly. "But finally we decided that none of those was a real option – burns from dragon fire, incredibly imcomprehensible French babbling, honestly, who would want that? Besides you and Bill, of course. Jerks…"

And it was only when he said this word that he could hear what he'd been hoping for. Charlie was laughing quietly.

"There's more than dragons in Romania, you know. And those girls don't talk half as much as dear Fleur."

George didn't know how it had happened, but suddenly he found himself joining in Charlie's laughter. It wasn't loud, though, barely audible for anyone else. But it was there, and it felt good.

And then the wind stopped all of a sudden, and so did their laughter. It lingered in the air for a moment, and simultaneously the two brothers gazed down at their brother's grave.

"He didn't blame you, Charlie. He never did. Keep that in mind."

"I'll try." He seemed to hesitate, his eyes stuck on the grey stone. "I only hope we'll ever find a way to somehow be able to live again."

"So do I, Charlie", said George, staring down at the black lines that formed a name. "So do I."

* * *

They left the graveyard side by side. Their footsteps filled the silence, and although they weren't even touching each other, George knew that within this short time they had come closer than ever before. And he was grateful for that, because he knew that without all those people trying to hold him, he would definitely fall and probably never get up again. He needed them. But he now knew that they also needed him just as much.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_There's a wonderful HP Youtube vid with the song "Held" by Natalie Grant. Have a look at it, it's great! The user is HBHO._

* * *


	11. November Rain

Okay... so this is a kind of filler chapter, I guess. I wanted to write a lot more but didn't find the time (just when I had gotten over the phase of not knowing _what_ to write!), so this has to do. I didn't want to keep you waiting, so I split the chapter, I hope that's okay.

Tell me what you think!

* * *

**11. November Rain**

Grey clouds were darkening the London sky, and the streets were flooded with rain pouring down from above. People ran to find shelter under the porches of the shops, jumping over puddles in which red and yellow leaves were indicating the approach of winter. The wind turned colder, and the customers that entered Weasleys' Wizard Weezes were usually dressed in warmer clothes, their cheeks pink from the fierce wind outside.

George had long before made some changes in products, exchanging the "Skincolour Changing Sunlotion" for "Winter Wonderland Whips" that induced a miniature snow flurry when lashed, the extended version including a set of Christmas songs that could be played while watching the tiny snowflakes tumbling down to earth. He knew that although it wasn't even December, people were already eager to get prepared for Christmas, just for… well, being prepared, he thought with a grin.

One year ago his mother had been just like them.

But now everything was different, and George tried not to think about the next two months. The previous weeks had already been difficult enough.

On that first November day he had returned to The Burrow, accompanied by Charlie, only to find his parents waiting for them in the sitting room. Bill had left for Shell Cottage, Percy and Ron had been in their rooms and George hadn't felt like going to them. Ginny had been gone, too, and he had been right in thinking that she had left for Grimmauld Place before returning to Hogwarts the next day. For a moment he and Charlie had been standing in the doorway, facing their parents and their love and sorrow. It had been almost too much to take, and it had only been because of Charlie that George had been able to hug his mother without starting to cry again. He had made a promise to try to be strong for those he had got left, and he had to keep it somehow.

But when he was alone, he didn't know who to be strong for. Well, he_knew_ that he had to carry on, and he tried and somehow succeeded, even if succeeding only meant to get up every morning and live another day as if it would someday all be normal again. That was hard enough, because some changes would impact your life forever, and George had had to learn that the hard way.

Some days were even harder to get through. And knowing that there was no way to avoid them made it almost impossible for George to keep a smile on his face.

And now it was nearly December, and it would be Bill's birthday tomorrow, and he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know what he should give his eldest brother, he didn't know how to cope with the concerned looks or sad faces, and he really didn't know how to have a party without someone else to crack jokes with and play tricks on Percy or Ron. Not that they had had the chance to play pranks on their former favorite victim during the last three years. But now he was back, and they still wouldn't do it. _He_ wouldn't do it. There was no "they" anymore, the thought hit him painfully, and he clenched his fists. He would have to see that through. He remembered Ginny's and Percy's birthdays back in August, and the pain increased as he saw the tears on his little sister's face again, watching her going to the graveyard on her own, refusing to let anyone join her. Not even Harry, and the hurt look on his face had only added to his mother's pain. But George had somehow understood her. When everyone wanted to be there for you, you sometimes needed to be on your own even more.

Percy hadn't celebrated at all.

And George had the distinct notion that Bill's birthday wouldn't be any easier.

* * *

The next day he Apparated to Shell Cottage at midday, and once again he was amazed by the awesome view you had from the garden. But this time he didn't stay outside, but hurried into the house to escape the pouring rain. 

The first person he met was Fleur. She was smiling at him, a soft, careful smile, so unlike the seducing young woman he had got to know all those years ago in Hogwarts. She wasn't a girl anymore, he realized just now, and although he was only one year younger than her, he felt like there was a lifetime between them.

"Salut, George", she said warmly. "Come in, Bill's already waiting."

"Is anyone else already there?", George asked while following her.

"Ron and 'ermione", she nodded. "And Charlie."

They went to the sitting room, and Bill got to his feet immediately when he saw George. For a moment George remained standing in the doorway, then he took a deep breath and went on. This wasn't going to be easier if he stayed here. There was only one way he could maybe get through this.

"Happy birthday, mate!", he called and hugged his older brother. "29, huh? You're getting old man!" He stepped back and pretended to have a closer look at Bill's long hair. "What is that? Grey hair?", he said in shock.

"Stop kidding me!", Bill chuckled.

"I'm serious", he insisted. "C'mon Charlie, have a look, what do you think?"

Grinning, Charlie got up from the sofa and went over to his brothers.

"You know what, Bill", he said after having examined his brother's red ponytail, "I think George is right. This _is_ a grey strand."

"Oh stop it!", Bill laughed, struggling to free himself from Charlie's tight grip as the younger one poked him into the side.

"You're old, face it!", and on the sofa Ron burst into laughter while Hermione obviously tried hard to keep a straight face. Fleur shook her head, muttering something that sounded a lot like "Garçons!".

George didn't mind her disapproving look as long as it protected him from silence. He feared the silence that somehow always used to stun them at meetings like this. It had happened on Ginny's birthday, it had happened on All Saints' Day – the odds were against him, he knew that. So he faked a smile and hoped that he could beat them this time.

_Maybe you could only beat them once in your life?_

He choked as he remembered his thoughts, that day seemed so far away, and still the pain was there.

"Hey, what's going on here?", he heard a familiar voice, and he blinked quickly to find his way back into the present. Ginny was almost suffocating her eldest brother, squeezing him and beaming at the others at the same time. Finally she let go and allowed Harry to congratulate Bill, too. She went over to George and hugged him.

"How are you?", she asked quietly.

"I'm okay", George replied, thinking that this wasn't actually a lie. A kind of euphemism, maybe, but not entirely false. But when his eyes met hers, he knew that he would never be able to fool his little sister. "So, how are you two doing?", he asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

Ginny glanced at Harry who was already sitting next to Ron and Hermione, and George could see how her face lit up when the blackhaired man smiled at her.

"We've had a good talk", she said. "I think the worst is over now." But when she avoided George's look, he realized that Ginny could never fool him, either. He sighed inwardly, and he was relieved when he heard his mother's voice.

"I'm sorry we're late, dear", she apologized to her son. "Your father had a lot to do at the Ministry, and…"

"It's okay, Mum", Bill interrupted her. "I'm just glad you came."

"No way we'd miss your birthday", she said as if she'd been personally insulted, and the tone in her voice put a smile on George's face. He watched his parents embrace their eldest son first, then go over to their other children. As usual, Percy stayed a bit behind, appearantly insecure about how they expected him to act. He reached out his hand to shake Bill's, but the older one ignored it and pulled him into a hug instead, murmering words the others couldn't understand. But George noticed Percy blinking his eyes behind the glasses before he turned to his siblings.

The next hour passed unexpectedly well, although George could see sadness on the different faces from time to time, resulting from words that conjured memories he didn't know of, that only existed in one mind alone. He knew that he wasn't the only one who clung to those memories, images that were floating in his mind, some clear, some blurred.

Bill had loved his presents and had been thrilled by the tickets for the concert of the "Lost Devils", one of the most popular hardrock bands in Wizard Britain. His mother had given the moving picture on the ticket a more than disapproving look, muttering something about "long hair and black clothes, and those tattoos, _honestly_", making everybody laugh while at least Arthur had pretended to be on her side.

Now Ginny was telling stories from Hogwarts, from time to time being interrupted by Ron. But the more the others said, the less George heard. The laughter was hidden behind a misty wall that absorbed the familiar voices. From his place he could look out of the window. He could hardly see the edge of the garden through the rain, but still he could almost taste the salty sea on his tongue. He _could_ taste it.

It was only then that he became aware of the tear running down his face.

And he didn't even know the reason.

He wiped his eyes hastily, praying that nobody had noticed. But just when he thought that it couldn't get worse, his gaze fell upon Bill. And if there was anything worse than crying on your brother's birthday, it was seeing the tears in your brother's eyes.

* * *

_**A/N:** "November Rain" is an awesome song by Guns'n'Roses. _


	12. Tryin' to kill the Pain

I'm so sorry for the delay, somehow this chapter took me much longer than I had intended. Some nasty form of writer's block - add stress at work and at the stable and you know the reason for the delay... However, here it is, I hope you like it.

I don't know if I got the timeline right, but however...

This is dedicated to **Caro aka cool-dinozzo** for her awesome reviews. Thanks so much, that means a lot to me!

_**A/N:**_ The title is a line in the song _"November Rain"_.

* * *

**12. Tryin' to kill the pain**

Bill looked up, and he didn't even try to hide his emotions. Fleur was sitting beside him, looking at her husband with so much love that it increased the sharp pain that emerged in George's chest. Bill returned his wife's look, squeezing her hand on the table, but then he got up. And there it was. The silence.

Everyone was looking at the tall young man, and George wondered how Bill could do that. Standing there, knowing about the silvery lines that were crossing the fading, though deeper ones on his face, being aware of his family staring at him and still managing to stand straight. Their eyes met, and Bill opened his mouth, but no words came. The silence remained, and George didn't dare look at his parents. He glanced at Ron instead, who was sitting with his head bowed, Hermione next to him obviously feeling just as uneasy as Harry.

The rain was pattering against the windows, and when Bill turned round and headed for the door, nobody moved.

Fleur followed her husband with the eyes, but didn't make an attempt to run after him. She knows him very well, George thought, a bit surprised, and for a short moment he wondered if he would find anyone who could read his mind like that ever again. Fred had been the one, though not in the way Fleur was for Bill, of course. But he had always understood what had been said without words.

George heard a soft sob, and he saw his mother shaking, making a slow movement as if she wanted to stand up, but her husband laid a hand onto her forearm. "Don't, Molly."

The words were barely audible through the noise of the rain, but there was a tone within that made everyone shudder. Their father was helpless.

Fleur wiped a strand of her silver hair out of her face, staring at Bill's empty chair beside her.

"Pourquoi…", she whispered, and George could see her beautiful eyes shining.

Maybe she got aware of everyone looking at her, maybe she didn't, he couldn't tell, but she turned to look at the others at the table. Did she sense that they were hoping for an answer? For George instictively knew that she was the only one right now who could probably give it.

She seemed to hesitate, though. Her hand grasped the mug of coffee, clinging to it with much more force than George would have expected this woman to have.

"Bien", she suddenly said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. Then she looked from one to another, her eyes resting longer on George than he felt comfortable with. "Je pense que je dois…" She was troubled. They had learned by now that Fleur only spoke French when she was either really angry or very worried. Seeing that she wasn't yelling, there was only one option left.

Fleur had noticed her change of language and shook her head in confusion.

"Excusez-moi. It's just that…" She took a deep breath. "I... we… we wanted to tell you together. But Bill… I think that 'e is 'aving trouble with it, so…" She looked directly at Mrs Weasley when she said the next words. "I'm pregnant."

Then several things happened simultaneously. Mrs Weasley sobbed while her face lit up, Ginny stared at her sister-in-law with a mingled expression of happiness and disbelief, Charlie and Percy looked at each other silently.

"Blimey!", said Ron.

George got up.

Fleur put a hand onto her belly absentmindedly, her blue eyes finding George's.

He wouldn't have to see her nod to do what he needed to.

* * *

The rain was hitting him hard on the face, every drop a stone, hammering onto his heart. He kept on running. And he knew that he didn't have to go far.

Bill was standing with his back to him, his long hair plastered on his back, the shirt drenched and sticking to his body.

George came to a halt at his side, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

"I'm going to be a father, George." His voice was toneless, but far from emotionless. George could hear that despite the blowing wind. In fact, he would have even known if his brother hadn't said anything at all.

"I know."

If Bill was surprised, he didn't show it. He just kept staring at the dark clouds above the water in the distance, not moving an inch towards or away from the edge of the cliff.

"In 9 months from now, I'll have a little girl. Don't ask me how Fleur knows it already. She just does. I guess it's a woman's thing." He sighed. "Don't think I'm not happy, believe me, I am. More than that. Ever since I met her I wished for nothing more than that. Having a family. Someone to come home to. But now…" He choked hard, and the raindrops on his face looked like a stream of tears. Or was it the other way round? George didn't know.

"Listen Bill", he began, but his voice failed him when his brother finally turned his head. Despair was etched upon the scarred face, just as visible as the fine lines on the tanned skin.

"I always wanted to protect my family from anything that could harm them. When Dad got hurt, I swore… I swore that I would look out for you."

"But…"

"I failed, George", Bill said through pressed lips. "I couldn't protect Fred. And now I shall be a father, have the most precious little thing on earth in my arms, and I'll know that I could fail her just like…"

"Don't say that."

George's words were a mere whisper, but somehow they seemed to reach Bill through the cold wind. The younger one tried to suppress the shaking of his trembling body, biting his lower lip until it hurt. He wouldn't cry. Not now.

"You didn't fail him, Bill. Don't even dare think that. If you did, then so did we all."

"I'm his…"

"Brother? Know what? So am I." For a second George hesitated, fighting against the lump in his throat. Was it even right to speak of his brother in the present tense? But he couldn't imagine to talk about him in any other way. "Just because you're the oldest, you're not the only one who cares. We're a family, we'd walk through fire and flame for each other. Even Percy. You know he would. But sometimes… sometimes we can't even get close to the fire, you know? If… if it hadn't been Fred, but someone else, don't you think he would have felt just like we do now? It's normal to think about what we could have done, about what _could_ have happened. But you mustn't get lost in thinking about how what_did_ happen is your fault."

"That's good advice", Bill laughed bitterly, not looking at George.

"Don't tell me I need to take it just as well. I know that. And I know how damn hard it is. You don't need to tell me." He took some deep breaths, mainly because he didn't exactly know what he was heading for. It was strange speaking to Bill like that. Of course they had always been close, as close as brothers could be, but this kind of talk… they hadn't had that before Fred… and again, George forbid himself to think any further. "But you have to stop feeling responsible for everyone, Bill. It's not your job to protect us, don't think you have to. We need you – but you've got a new family that needs you just as much. Don't forget that."

Bill wiped his face once, letting out a shaky breath. Finally he turned his head at his younger brother.

"I will never forget that. It's just that… it feels wrong. Fred's gone, and life goes on as if nothing's happened. My little girl will grow up and never know him."

George could feel his eyes sting, and he was aware of a single tear rolling down his cheek, just to be washed away by the rain immediately. He swallowed hard, and for a split second he reached out his hand to touch Bill, but then withdrew it and remained still. Instead, he somehow managed to let the words inside his mind find their way out into the rain.

"You're right. It feels wrong. And even just thinking that Fred… that he will never again be with us, that he'll never see us make our ways into life – that scares me. But he would understand. Our fear – and our attempt to somehow live on." A silent sob escaped him, and he felt the hot liquid running down his face, mingling with the cool rain that was pouring down from above. "He would just want us to make sure that he'll never be forgotten by us, and by those he's never got to know."

Bill nodded quietly.

"Thinking of a family has always been the only thing that could somehow ease the pain", he said, and George remembered the day nearly two months ago, when they had been standing at exactly the same place. Bill's words echoed in his head.

_"Is that right? Thinking like that, going on like that? I don't know. But it's the only thing that keeps me sane."_

"You'll be a wonderful father, Bill", George said, managing to control the quivering of his voice. "Just like you've always been a wonderful brother."

Bill formed a little smile, and George returned it just as weakly.

"It's strange", the older one said hoarsely, "It should be the other way round. I should be telling you all this. It's not supposed to be that way."

George's smile faded as he looked at his oldest brother whose face was wet from rain and tears and whose eyes were reflecting his own sorrows.

"Nothing's how it's supposed to be anymore. Has it ever occured to you that being there for you is the only thing that keeps _me_ sane, the only thing that still makes sense?" Bill seemed to want to interrupt, but George shook his head. "Don't tell me that it isn't the only thing, I know that. But it's not easy to tell myself that when every morning I wake up thinking that I heard Fred's voice, and get up just to realize once again that he's gone." His bottom lip started to tremble dangerously, and he clenched his fists. "You're all I got left", he whispered, and he could feel his shoulders shake when a sob emerged somewhere deep inside. "I just wish… I wish that thinking of him wouldn't hurt so much. I don't want to think of him that way. He wouldn't want me to, he'd want me to… to smile and honor him by playing pranks on Percy and… teasing Ron about that book he got… but I can't, Bill." Despair and grief were written over his freckled face, visible even through the rain which was washing the silvery tearstreaks off his skin. "It's so hard to be strong for someone who isn't even there."

"I know", Bill replied quietly, his voice croaking as he setteped closer to George.

Raindrops were falling hard onto the two brothers when they embraced, pulling each other close, hoping that sharing the pain would somehow make it go away.

"Ready to go back?", George finally muttered to his brother's shoulder.

Bill nodded, and side by side they went back to the house, away from the cliffs and the water. Their footprints remained only for seconds until they were washed away by the rain that continued to pour down onto Shell Cottage.

* * *


	13. Changed and Unchanged

Wow, seeing that this was supposed to be a filler chapter before I meet the challenge that's called Christmas, it turned out quite long. Plus, it's a bit shipper-ish, I hope you don't mind. I love shipping and I _had_ to include that somewhere. ;) However, I hope you like the chapter!

Oh and some might know it already, but I have some tribute vids which you find in my profile, I'd be very very glad if you watched and maybe commented them!

* * *

**13. Changed and Unchanged**

December began like November had ended – a grey mix of rain and thunderstorm and moments of silence when the clouds would allow the sun to glimpse at the people below for a couple of hours. It got colder, and smoke was rising from the chimneys as George and Lee were strolling through the streets of Wizard London.

"You can't get your Mum another scarf, Lee", George said, the air in front of his mouth crystallizing. "You got her one last year and the year before, it's time for a change mate!"

"I know!", the young man answered, sighing. "But I don't have any idea about what to give her for Christmas. Why do they need presents anyway?"

George chuckled slightly while jumping over one of the large puddles on the pavement.

"Well, they could ask you the same question, couldn't they? They've been giving you presents for 20 years now!"

"I'm their only son, it's my birthright to get something", Lee grinned.

"Sure", said George, shaking his head. He looked right, and stopped abruptly.

"Hey, what's up?", Lee asked impatiently, stopping too.

They were standing in front of a shop for babies' clothes, and George couldn't take his eyes off the tiny dolls in the shopwindow. He saw his own reflection smiling at the sight of it, seeing a little girl with Bill's freckles and Fleur's silver hair wearing one of those blue sleepers instead of the white doll.

"Can you imagine Bill and Fleur actually buying things here?", he asked incredulously. "I mean, Bill's good with kids, but…"

"How is he, anyway?" Lee looked at his friend enquiringly. George had, after a few days of not letting anyone know what had happened outside Shell Cottage, told Lee about the conversation with Bill. He had left some parts out, though, having spoken more about Bill's concerns than about his own, but still Lee knew that the eldest Weasley kid was troubled by the events.

"I think Bill's okay", George replied, still looking at the window. It was true. When he and his brother had come back to the rest of the family, Bill had been relieved, no matter how much the look on his face contradicted this assumption. George had known it by the way his oldest brother had looked at his wife, lovingly – and with a kind of expression George couldn't explain, but which he instinctively knew was a good sign. Sometimes things could be said between two persons that only they would understand, and he had witnessed that between Bill and Fleur just like he had experienced it with Fred.

The smile of his reflection faded for a blink of an eye upon the thought of Fred, and George was glad he had his back on Lee.

"However", he said, turning round and trying to pull himself together. "Let's go on, you still haven't found anything."

"What about you?", asked Lee as they went on down the street. "What are you gonna give your Mum?"

"I don't know", and somehow George found it suddenly very difficult to look Lee into the eye. He had never been good at chosing presents for his parents, and most time he and Fred had done some last minute shopping on the 24th just to have something to come up with. His mother had a pile of bags in her closet, not to mention the 10 pairs of gloves from Ron and Charlie. And now everything was different. Ron had planned to go shopping with Hermione, Bill would have Fleur to get something for everyone (hopefully the French wine again, George thought), and Charlie… well, probably he, at least, wouldn't have changed.

But he knew that they all had, and that change didn't show itself in the presents they bought, and not in the way his mother hadn't started to bake Christmas cookies yet. Something was missing, and no one felt that more than George, of course. He didn't only hurt when he was at home or at Hogwarts or whatever places his family associated with him – he felt it every minute of his life, from getting up in the morning till going to sleep at night.

Evn now, as he was with his best friend, he fought hard to keep back his emotions whenever he caught sight of one of the many places they had used to go to. He knew that Lee would understand, that he could confide in him, but still some part of him refused to let his feelings show. Talking to his brothers was one thing – telling your friends how you're feeling was different.

So the two young men walked silently, the one too lost in thoughts, the other one sensitive enough not to speak.

"What about a record?", Lee suddenly asked, and George looked up with a start. He had to look rather confused, because Lee added, "A record for my mother. She loves this guy… what's his name? However, that corny blondie who sings as if he had a wand up his…"

"Okay, Lee", said George hastily, being aware of the old witch next to them looking slightly annoyed. "Just ask the shop assistant. But give some… erm… less graphic explanations, will you?"

Lee just laughed and entered the shop. George followed, closing the door behind him. His friend headed for the counter straight away, and immediately started to talk animatedly. George suppressed a grin and made his way to the shelves.

He loved music. Unfortunately, his taste in music had never been quite congruent with his mother's. The "Lost Devils" versus Celestina Warbeck – well, the end of these fights had been one of the great advantages of moving to London.

For a couple of minutes he kept looking at various records, listening to one or two, and it felt good to concentrate on something completely different for a change. He found the record of a newcomer band from Ireland, and he decided that it would be a nice present for either Charlie or Ron since their taste in music was quite similar. He headed for the counter when he bumped into someone.

"Sorry, I didn't…", but he stopped before he could finish the excuse.

"Hi George."

"Alicia. What are you doing here?", he asked, and he could feel himself blush upon the stupid question. But if Alicia had noticed, she didn't seem to bother.

"I needed to get something for my brother", she said, pointing at the plastic bag in her hand. "And now I'm waiting for… oh, there she is!" And she waved at a tall girl that was coming towards them.

"Sorry, there was a queue as if there were World Cup tickets for free, and… oh." It was only then that she noticed George.

"Hello Angelina."

For a moment they just stared at each other, and the silence made George shift uncomfortably. There was something in the young woman's eyes that told him something was wrong. He knew it even before he saw her dark eyes fill.

"How… how are you doing?", she asked in a choked voice, and George noticed the circles around her eyes and the trembling of her lips. The picture changed, turning into some blurry scenery of bright lights and colourful dress robes and laughing faces. A young man and a young woman, dancing to the music of the night, happy faces all around. Fred grinning, leaving the flat at night, beaming all over, the only occasions he had ever gone out without his twin.

"Okay. I'm okay", he managed to say, but he knew that he couldn't fool anyone with that. "And… you?"

"Have to, huh?", she answered and pressed her lips together. She avoided his look, gazing at the shelves at his right. She didn't say anything else, but George knew everything without her telling him.

"Excuse me", he said quietly, and turned round. He had to get out of the shop now, although he didn't know how to explain this to Lee once he had finished his conversation with the pretty girl at the counter.

George stopped in front of the shop, taking deep breaths. He hated himself for running away, but somehow he couldn't stand looking at Angelina, see her sadness and despair like a mirror image of himself; and he couldn't deal with Alicia's obvious concern, either.

"George?"

Apparently, Alicia hadn't noticed – or not wanted to, for that matter. George inhaled deeply again, trying to put a smile upon his face.

"Missed me that much?", he joked weakly. To his surprise, she blushed slightly, but didn't return his fake smile.

"I just…", she started, but stopped mid-sentence, shrugging. "I don't know. I felt like I should follow you, don't ask why. Dunno."

George nodded, watching her as her fingers played with the zipper of her jacket.

"I didn't even know you and Ange were still so close", he finally said, ignoring the raspy tone in his voice.

"We lost contact when she left Hogwarts, but about one year ago we met again, found out that we work in the same city, and decided to live together."

"What about Katie?", George asked, and his curiosity wasn't fake. He hadn't seen his former Quidditch friend since the battle. And even then, his mind had been on other things than asking her what she was doing.

"She's in Paris right now, actually", Alicia said, suddenly grinning. "Met some boy there during her last holidays, and now she's spending a year there – to improve her French – or so she says."

"Yeah, I can totally figure her sitting at home studying all night", Georeg replied sarcastically. "So it seems as if Oliver's the only one left for Quidditch, I guess."

"Who else if not Oliver?"

"Last thing I heard was that he wanted to become captain as soon as possible, to _'change tune'_, you know?"

"Well, some things never change, do they?"

But the moment the words had slipped her mouth, Alicia looked away quickly. And still George could see her eyes shine suspiciously.

"Sorry George, but…"

"Hey", he muttered softly. "It's okay. Really, it is. Look, Alicia, it's… it's hard to hear things like that… but it's even harder to see how everyone tries to avoid them. It's not _real_, you know? So don't apologize."

She sighed, turning her head back at him.

"I don't know how you do that, George."

"Do what?"

"Say wise words like that, when you of all people…" She shook her head. "I wish I was able to find such words…"

"But you did", George said, remembering that night just too well. "Really, Alicia, when you were at the graveyard… you found the perfect words."

"I don't find them for her", she replied sadly, nodding at the shop. George couldn't see Angelina, but he knew what Alicia meant.

"You'll find them. It just takes some time."

"I hope so." She looked at George, and he tried to look somewhat encouraging. He wasn't sure if he succeeded, though. "I just wish that…", she hesitated.

"What?", George asked tentatively. He couldn't tell why, but somehow it felt good to be the one for questions rather than for answering for a change.

"I hear her crying, George." He could see her eyes fill again, and for a moment he regretted his question. But she didn't seem to mind. "Not often, of course. But sometimes at night… and I don't know what to do."

George fought against the lump in his throat, but suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Of course he had known that Fred and Angelina had gone out from time to time, but he had never asked how serious that had been. And with a jolt of guilt he realized that he had never thought about how his death had affected her.

"She's had this crush on him for such a long time, but she never wanted to show it", Alicia said quietly. "She said it would be bad for the team, and that she'd go away after school anyway. And then he turned up one day and… everything came back."

"I know", George replied, biting his lip. "He told me he had a date, and he couldn't stop telling me how fucking happy he was… and then it ended one day", he remembered.

"She was pretty upset, believe me", Alicia said bitterly. "But as far as I know it was their decision, and both said they were fine with it. Told me that it was too risky to commit yourself to something that serious in times like those…" She glanced over at the shop again. "She believed in a brighter future. And now it's begun, and it isn't bright at all."

George felt his eyes burn as he watched a single tear running down her cheek, and he blinked hastily as he noticed Lee and Angelina approaching from the shop.

They waited until their friends arrived, and Lee swung a plastic back like a trophy.

"Got it, mate!", he shouted. "Sorry it took me so long, those guys really don't have a clue, honestly!", and he shook his head in disapproval.

"It's okay", George reassured him, exchanging a quick look with Alicia.

"Ange, are you… ready to go home?", the young woman asked, and the other one nodded.

"I am."

Alicia turned to George und hugged him briefly.

"It was good seeing you again", she mumbled. "Take care, will you?"

"Sure", he said. When she let go to say goodbye to Lee, he found himself eye to eye with Angelina again. They were silent for a moment. Then George stepped closer to her and pulled her into a hug without thinking. He felt like it was necessary.

"Ange", he whispered. "He knew that you loved him. Don't think he didn't. He always did."

A quiet sob reached his ear, and his throat restricted.

"I just wish I had a chance to tell him how much I miss him, you know?", she said hoarsely.

"Yeah", he said. "I know. But… I'm sure he does know. Fred always knows."

He could hear her laugh shakily, and he knew that it was all he could hope for right now.

"I need to go now, George", Angelina said, and he let her go. "Hope to see you soon, maybe I'll be around at Christmas. Visit some relatives with my parents."

"You know where to find me", and George didn't even know whom he was addressing with those words. Both girls nodded.

"See you!", and then they turned round, heading down the street.

The two men watched them go, then faced each other.

"So, what's up?", Lee asked. "Time for a five o'clock beer?"

And George found himself grinning as they headed for the "Leaky Cauldron". Some things really didn't change. And it was only because of those things that the changes that impacted your life didn't destroy you.

He just didn't know if his mother would accept this theory when it came to drinking beer in broad daylight.

On the other hand, he thought as he felt the drizzle on his face and looked at the grey London sky, even his mother couldn't seriously call that "broad daylight".

So there shouldn't be a problem after all.


	14. Snowflakes

Again quite different than I'd expected. I felt like I needed to include Oliver again. I'm not so satisfied with the ending, so feel free to critizise ;) Anyway, I still hope you like it after all.

* * *

14. Snowflakes

It was cold. Tiny snowflakes were dancing in front of George's face as he made his way through the sea of blue and red in which he was finding himself.

"George, hurry up!"

"Coming, Oliver! – Merlin's beard that boy's crazy", he muttered to himself, and two men looked at him in confusion.

George didn't care, though, but followed Oliver through the crowd. People were stepping aside, dressed up in blue jerseys with red collars, and wearing scarves in the same colours. He could hear fragments of sentences while he was passing them by, "…the Bookham Blizzards, that's gonna be tough…", "…new Chaser…", "…that referee, I tell you…". A magical megaphone advertised a huge variety of products George was sure he'd never need, although the female voice tried to convince him that it was absolutely necessary to spend Galleons on "Benson's Broomstick Polish".

He ran after Oliver, pushing his way through the crowd until his friend finally came to a halt.

"That's our entrance", he said, pointing at a stairway. "First class seats for the match of the year, that's so cool!"

"I still can't believe you actually got them that easily", George said a bit breathless.

"Well, not _that_ easily", Oliver corrected. "It took some good arguments to persuade Adam to get me those tickets."

"What arguments?", George asked curiously.

"Like how I'd tell his new coach about the day he called in sick for training because he had the worst hangover ever."

George pushed him mockingly. "You're so mean, you know that?"

"That's the essence of being a Quidditch captain", the older one simply said and climbed up the stairs. George followed, shaking his head in amusement.

* * *

"What an excellent goal from our new Chaser Adam Leyton! A great transfer from Puddlemere, we're glad he's with us now! So the score's 80:50 for the Wakefield Warriors, but still no sign of the Snitch. C'mon, clap your hands for the Warriors!" 

George was surrounded by a cheering crowd, and the match thrilled him to the bone. Everywhere people were shouting and singing, waving blue-and-red flags, and despite the low temperature he would gladly have taken his sweater off. It was only because he couldn't risk getting ill that he didn't do it.

"Yeah, great job!", he shouted as the Wakefield Keeper blocked a shot from a Bookham Chaser, and seconds later Adam scored again, and George and Oliver high-fived.

In the end, the score was 210:100 for the local team, and after the long match George and Oliver were both exhausted from cheering and clapping. But of course none of them would have admitted it, and so Oliver proposed to meet his former team mate Adam outside the stadium.

They didn't have to wait long until the lanky young man came towards the two friends. His hair was damp, but George couldn't tell whether it was due to the increasing amount of snow or because the boy had taken a shower.

Oliver greeted the man and shook his hand.

"Hey Adam, great match!", he said. "It's a shame you left us, we could do with some of your goals right now. Things are getting tough for us."

"Thanks, man", Adam smiled. "I wasn't expecting this, to be honest. But that Keeper was a loser, so no complaints."

"Well, no one's better than me", Oliver boasted, and George snorted. "Oh, by the way Adam, this little red head is George Weasley", and he pointed at George who was smaller than the others. "He was one of my team mates."

"Victim is more like it", George mumbled, and the Wakefield player grinned and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, George. What position did you play? You look like a damn good Beater to me."

"Exactly", nodded George, smirking at Oliver.

"Had a good broomstick?"

George rolled his eyes, remembering his old, shabby Cleansweep that had accompanied him through the years, and which he hadn't touched ever since Fred had gone. It hurt to fetch one broom and leave the other behind – but he couldn't throw it away, either.

"Cleansweep. Not the best one, actually, but quite okay", he shrugged, and Adam smiled again.

"Don't worry, my first one was a Cleansweep, too. Handed down from my elder brother. Embarassing, but whatever. Taught me how to fly, and call me a moron, but I still have it." George and Oliver nodded understandingly. "And after all", Adam added, "it's all about the team, not about the broom. The best broomstick's not worth the Galleons if you have a lousy partner. Especially when it comes to Beaters." He gave George a curious look. "Did you have a good partner?"

George's throat restricted, and suddenly he found it extremely hard to breathe. He was aware of Oliver staring at him, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then remained silent. He could feel his lips form words, but he could hardly hear them when his raspy voice broke the strained silence.

"I had the best."

He saw Adam smile and reach out his hand to pat his back, but he didn't feel the touch. He was numb and unable to move, he didn't hear what the Quidditch player was saying, and above all, something told him that it wasn't the snowflakes burning in his eyes.

"George?"

Miraculously, Oliver's words finally reached him, and he budged, furiously trying to ignore the pain that shot through his body. He looked up, directly into the older one's concered face.

"What?"

"I think we should go now, shouldn't we?"

"Really?", Adam intervened, obviously disappointed. "I thought you'd be in for a celebration of the match, have a few drinks…"

"Sorry mate", Oliver shook his head, not letting George out of sight. "We need to go."

"But I don't wanna…", George protested, although he didn't know why. In fact, the thought of celebrating with a bunch of unknown people scared him, but the fact that Oliver had made that decision for him made him furious.

Oliver didn't seem to care, though.

"_Now_, George! 'twas good to see y'again, Adam", he said hastily, already dragging George away.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?", George asked angrily, when he was only permitted to shake Adam's hand before Oliver made him go away from the stadium. He struggled, but Oliver's grip was firm, and George… he was weak. The realization struck him. He'd never had difficulties keeping up with his Captain.

"Getting you home, that's what I'm doing", said Oliver, and in a last desperate attempt George managed to free himself. He stepped back, staring at the older one in anger.

"And why the fuck d'you think you have to?", he yelled. "I'm fine, okay?"

"Then why are you as white as a sheet, huh?", Oliver replied just as loudly, and several people turned their heads. With a lower voice he said, "Honestly, not that you ever had my gorgeous looks, but you look like crap, don't you see that?"

"That's none of your fucking business!"

"If you're too blind to notice, then it pretty well is! When's the last time you had a look at the mirror, for Merlin's sake?!"

George just stared at him furiously. Oliver returned the steady gaze, apparently motionless, but George saw the subliminal trembling, and he knew what the other one was thinking of.

"I'm sorry", Oliver said quietly. "I didn't mean…"

"Wow, you didn't mean it!", George mimicked him. He didn't even try to suppress the frustration in his voice, and he clenched his fists as he looked into Oliver's calm brown eyes that were filled with a kind of emotion he couldn't remember to ever have seen in the young man.

"You got that right, I didn't mean it. Damnit George, I'm your friend!"

"A nice friend who's never there", said George bitterly, his voice shaking. He knew it wasn't fair, but he couldn't help it.

"I'm not there for you as often as I should, that's true", replied Oliver, his words nearly drowned out by the noises around them. "But does that mean I care any less?"

Suddenly George found himself unable to look into Oliver's eyes any longer. He stared at the dark sky instead. Snowflakes were dancing in the streetlamp light, tumbling in the cold air until they left the cone of light and vanished in the darkness. Invisible, fragile pieces, untenable and yet not gone. They were still somewhere in the dark. Just because he couldn't see them didn't mean they weren't.

"You don't know what it's like", he whispered, and he turned his head so that he wouldn't have to look at his friend. He didn't want to talk about it, not here, not now, not with Oliver. With nobody, nowhere, never.

"You're right, I don't know what it feels like for you", Oliver said, and to George's surprise his voice was hoarse, and somehow he knew that this wasn't due to the Quidditch match. "I only know what it feels like for me." And again, something told George that the older one wasn't only refering to Fred. He just didn't know what else he might be thinking of.

"What does it feel like?", he managed to ask, and Oliver glanced at him in surprise. Obviously, he hadn't expected that question. His voice quivered as he spoke.

"I know you might think that the worst memory is Fred lying there on the ground. And you're right, it is. It was just so… surreal. That couldn't be him. It just couldn't. It can't. Whatever…" He choked. "I think about him him every day, did you know that?"

George shook his head. There was nothing more he was able to do.

"Every fucking day I have to tell myself again that he's gone. Every day. But at night… at night, it's _him_", and the sadness was shadowing his face in the pale light of the lamp. "He was just a kid, George… just a kid…"

And it was only then that George remembered. It was strange, he thought, how the memories had been erased by the only one he'd never forget. But Oliver's words brought them back, the blurred picture of his friend carrying the tiny boy, a familiar face with eyes wide open. For a moment he had looked at them, one alive, one dead - both lost in the open of the Great Hall.

He could see Oliver's eyes shimmering in the light, and suddenly he understood that he wasn't the only one still fighting. And although the demons might be different, the battlefield was the same. And there was only one way to make it through it.

"I'm sorry Oliver", he muttered, and he could feel his own eyes burning even stronger when he silently pulled his friend close.

Moments later they Disapparated from the place, and it took only a couple of minutes until their footprints were covered with snow again, invisible to those who passed by. Nobody else knew about that conversation, no one but the snowflakes in the winter air. And they wouldn't tell.


	15. Silent Night

Hey, I'm sorry, I guess this is the longest delay ever... hate myself for that. Maybe it's just because I was/ am actually a bit afraid of writing about Christmas, after all those perfect chapters of MBP's and Bad Mum's. I think I'll need several chapters as well to cover that day.

Anyway, I hope you like it, I thought this kind of conversation was about time.

This chapter is dedicated to two people - first, my mother, who would have been 53 on November 13; second, my father, who found strength for us all those years back when it was hard enough to find it for himself.

PS: Somehow the editing tool doesn't let me put words in bold or italic, that sucks and doesn't look good, but I can't change it. I hope I'll be able to fix that someday... :(

* * *

15. Silent Night

His toes were ice-cold. The warm blanket was too short to cover him completely, and his feet were surrendered to the coldness. It would have been easy to magically enlarge the blankets, and he didn't even know why he didn't do it, just like he didn't heat the room either. Instead, he pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up in this bed that was his shelter and hell at the same time, carrying the smell of childhood and youth, of lost innocense and faded dreams.

He had slept in this bed for 17 years, but it wasn't the same anymore. Or was he the one who was different now? George didn't know, and he didn't want to think about it.

He could hear Percy's regular breathing coming over from the other bed. For a moment he wondered how it felt like for his brother to sleep there when he knew that it had never been meant to be him. Did it trouble him? But the very same moment the thought entered his mind, George shook his head. Of course it did. It hurt Percy to be lying there, just like it hurt George to see it. But on the other hand, it wasn't near as painful for George as being alone in this room, the place in the house that reminded him the most of what was missing. There were about thousands of things in the old house that brought back memories, but this room was worst of all. There hadn't been a single night when they'd be seperated, it was here that they'd always been together, talking, planning, fighting – living.

George sighed, sitting up in his bed. Somewhere a clock was ticking quietly, seconds passed, turning into minutes, hours, a life ticked away. Just another night.

But it wasn't. It was Christmas Eve, and George had only a couple of hours left until the house would awake again, forcing him to face the day he'd tried hard not to think of for so long. He had always loved Christmas, having his family around and being excited about presents – and now all he was feeling was fear and pain. He had no idea how it would be like without Fred, hell, he didn't even know how he _wanted_ it to be!

I don't want it any way but with him.

Was it really that simple?

He knew that it wasn't. Fred was missing – but so was something else, something he couldn't even define but which his twin had taken with him when he'd left. A missing piece of the puzzle that had once been a family, tearing the picture apart and leaving it scattered.

George glanced over at the other bed, trying to make out Percy's silhouette in the dark. His brother was shifting restlessly, and despite his calm breathing George knew that the elder one was troubled. They all were. He knew it by the silent whispering behind Ron's door, by the way Harry squeezed Ginny's hand when she started to shake due to a single word, and by the tears that filled his mother's eyes when she didn't know he'd see it. It was the tiny, barely visible things in everyday life that hurt the most, because they came so unexpected. It could happen so fast, one second everything was okay, they were actually laughing about some joke or a tale, and the next second the happiness was gone like a child's laughter in the wind.

And if normal days were hard, George wasn't surprised how they were all so scared of Christmas.

Although he had pulled the blanket up to his chest, he was still cold. He thought of warming the bed by magic, but then he suddenly found himself pushing the blanket aside and getting out of bed.

His bare feet touched the cold floor, and he shuddered involuntarily. Quietly he put on a pair of socks and left the room, closing the door carefully so that he wouldn't wake up his brother. For a moment he kept standing there, outside the door, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He ought to try get some sleep, another sleepless night wouldn't really help to make him look better. But there was something that made him stay outside, descending the stairs towards the kitchen. He didn't need light from his wand to find his way, too familiar was every step he took, every creaking of the wooden stairs. It was one of the things that lingered in your mind forever, something you didn't have to think about, no matter how much time passed. At least here, there was no difference between the little boy he once had been, and the grown-up man he was trying to be today.

When he was in the kitchen, he hesitated for a brief moment, insecure about what to do. He hadn't come down here on purpose, he had just wanted to… what? What was the reason he was there?

Why am I standing here?, he asked himself, scanning the room from the shelves to the sink to the cupboard and back. When they had been kids, he and Fred had used to sneak down to nick some sweets from one of the many boxes in the cupboard, but that had stopped long ago. So why was he here now?

He was sick of searching for reasons. There were so many questions, so many Why's and How's, but no answer. And why would he need it anyway? Answers didn't bring back what was lost.

After a couple of minutes of just standing there, George sat down at the wooden desk. His elbows resting on the plate, he buried his face in his hands. It couldn't hurt so much if you just didn't see the things that caused this pain, could it? But George knew he was wrong even before his mind revealed images that made him twinge. Looking away – or not looking at all – had never been a solution, so what was the sense in doing it now? Face the pain. Deal with it. Laugh at it, fight back.

But his will to fight had been lost somewhere between the smoking debris and silvery tears, the shining flowers and back letters on grey stone. And now one battle was over, but his own war was raging more fiercely than ever, and he was lost without his brother in arms. Defenseless, helpless, tired.

Suddenly he heard steps on the stairs, and he wiped his eyes hastily before he looked up. His father was staring back at him.

"What are you doing here?"

George shruggend uncomfortably.

"Couldn't sleep", he mumbled, and he avoided his father's look. The older man approached the table slowly and sat down opposite his son.

"Neither could I", he said quietly. "I thought that once Molly was asleep, it'd be easier for me as well… but it wasn't." He sighed.

Somehow George was suddenly really fascinated by the old child's painting on the wall. He had never noticed that Ron had used to draw figures with only three fingers when he was two. He made a mental note to remind his little brother of this interesting fact in due time.

"Do you remember the first time you ever rode a broomstick?"

The quiet voice broke the silence, and miraculously it forced George to turn his eyes away from the picture and to his father instead. He only didn't know what to say. So he only shrugged.

"No, I don't. Must be a long time ago."

His father smiled.

"Yes, it is", and for a moment he seemed to be somewhere else, at a place far away. Then his eyes became focused again. "You wanted to learn how to fly ever since you first saw a broomstick, and of course watching Bill and Charlie fly in the garden didn't really help to make you see reason. Oh, your mother was furious when you two stole your brothers' brooms from the shed, I can tell you that! You were no more than 3 years old, but you were flying 1 metre above the ground, and maybe we wouldn't even have noticed if you hadn't laughed so loud."

A sad smile crept upon the older face, and although George still didn't exactly remember the day, an image appeared in front of his inner eye.

Golden sunshine. Green grass. Two redheads, two smiles, two hearts beating as one.

"Molly wanted to get you down immediately, but I held her back."

"Why?", George asked, with a tone of mild surprise in his voice.

The older man looked at his son, and there was something in his kind eyes that George couldn't quite define.

"You looked so… happy."

"Why are you telling me all this?", George wanted to know, and his father sighed.

"Ever since Fred's… death", and he flinched at that word, "I wondered where we went wrong. What had we done to lose him like that?"

George opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he recognized that his father wasn't finished.

"These questions have been haunting me, and Molly, and you and everyone in this family."

That wasn't a question, George realized. It was a fact, and he was surprised that his father knew him so well.

"I didn't know what to do, what to say to you, because what words would ever make it alright?"

George watched his father speaking, being hypnotized by the words he was saying. He felt his eyes burning, but for once, he didn't care.

"And then I remembered that day. We watched you out there, and of course you got down safely. That is, your landing wasn't perfect yet, so you skinned your knees, got some bruises – but you just got up and went home. I don't think you ever found out that we'd watched you. When I thought back on these times, I realized that it had never been up to me, or Molly, or anyone, to stand in your way. We were never able to hold you back from what you wanted, and if we had, it wouldn't have been right. Of course we _did_ try, you know it."

George nodded, fragments of sentences echoing in his head.

"I always tried to reassure Molly that everything would be alright", Arthur continued, and George didn't dare to look him in the eye. "I saw her fears grow the older you got and the clearer the tasks of the future became. During the last years, I was reminded way too often of how easily anything could happen. Ginny in the Chamber, Bill attacked, you injured… and then Ron was gone, and we didn't know anything about his whereabouts, how he was doing, what he was up to..."

George nodded silently. Of course his parents had been worried, they all had, although at least he and Fred would never have shown it as clearly as the others.

"I can still hear Fred screaming at me when you were injured, how I had to get back, and hell, how I wanted to!" His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, and George was aware of how he was starting to shiver. "I can still see you lying there, the blood on the pillow, and you were so pale – but so was Fred."

The red haired man stared at a spot on the desk, his lips pressed together tightly.

"And I was afraid, George. More, probably, than I had ever been in my life. Seeing Fred like that – it was then that I realized what was at stake. I realized that the terrible thing about war isn't only people dying. It's also people having to keep on living."

He looked up again, and it was strange to see the man who had always been the strong one, the one to keep the family together, to make them feel safe, see so vulnerable and hurt.

"All I can do is tell myself that… that he would want us to go on. He always knew what he was fighting for. We all did. We just didn't know that this war wouldn't end with a final battle. It's still inside us. It's our personal demons we have to fight against, the regret, the guilt, the blame. We have to face them. We owe him that."

They looked at each other, father and son, and George found his own tears trickling down the older face. He didn't know what to say, what to tell his father, when no words could express how he was feeling.

"Go to sleep, son."

The deep voice found its way through to him, and it was filled with a kind of tenderness George couldn't remember to ever have heard from his father. And he knew that there was no need for words. There were things you didn't have to say, and he was grateful for that. He stood up, taking a deep breath. For a split second he caught the reflexion in the window. There were dried streaks on his cheeks, and his face was pale. But there was someone standing behind him. He wasn't alone.

"Thank you, Dad."

The older man seemed to hesitate for a moment until he pulled the younger one into a brief embrace. When George let go and turned round, he was still afraid of the day to come. But now he knew that he wouldn't have to fight on his own.


	16. In Pieces

I'm soooo sorry for the delay, my internet connection was down, and my dad only just fixed it.

Hope you like the chapter anyway.

A/N: Somehow won't let me make letters bold or into italics. So the sentences that are just in George's mind are in "..."s, okay? Don't know why I can't change it, it sucks.

* * *

16. In Pieces 

...A hallway. Footsteps echoing in the pitchblack darkness. Blind eyes searching for a way back. Where to? Why? Just keep on walking. Reaching for help. Stay by my side. Where are you? Don't leave me. Need to find the door. Need to get out. Help me please. Footsteps fading away. Come back. Please come back...

George awoke with a start, and he shook his head and rubbed his eyes to erase the blurred images in his mind. He needed a couple of minutes more before he was back in the real world, still confused and shaken. His whole body was covered in sweat, and he took several deep breaths. He hated this dream. But it kept returning from time to time, sometimes more intense than usual, sometimes sharp pictures, sometimes only a mist of changing forms.

He looked around in the room, and it was only then that he noticed Percy standing at the window with his back to his little brother. He was completely still, and George wasn't sure if he had even noticed that he'd woken up.

"Good morning, Percy", he said. But Percy didn't turn round. George watched him for five minutes, but the elder one wouldn't move. He coughed. Still no reaction.

"Okay, so are you ever gonna talk to me today, or are you just gonna stay frozen like that?", George asked, getting annoyed. Finally Percy turned round.

George had to suppress a gasp as he had a look at Percy's face, at the dark rings under his red eyes.

"What do you want me to say?", Percy asked hallowly. "Wish you a Merry Christmas? Do you want that?" His tone was aggressive, but George understood what he was trying to say. He choked hard. For a wonderful ten minutes he had almost forgotten about the meaning of the day.

"No", he answered quietly.

He remained on his bed, although some part of him wanted to get over to his older brother, but something told him that it would be better to stay where he was. So he kept sitting there, waiting for Percy to say more. He needed him to do so, because he didn't know any words he could possibly say.

"I just wish for this day to be over", Percy sighed shakily, and he cast his eyes down. "Does that sound stupid?"

George shook his head silently. It didn't sound stupid at all.

"Thinking of it scares the crap out of me", he heard himself say, and for a second he was stunned by his own words. He hadn't meant to actually say them aloud.

He stared at the white wall, just so that he didn't have to look at his brother. He didn't want to think about it, and he definitely didn't need to talk about it either, no matter what Percy would say.

After a couple of minutes of silence, George realized that he wasn't the only one who denied the need to talk. And he knew that they were both wrong – but two wrongs didn't make a right, did they?

"I guess we… we just have to make it through the day somehow, huh?", he muttered, still avoiding Percy's look. "We've made it through so many horrible holidays before, just remember Aunt Muriel's 80th birthday, or Uncle Edward's 50th when he got all drunk, or…" He trailed off when he noticed the slight glance in his brother's eyes. Not to mention the fact that his throat was suddenly so dry that it hurt to choke. He felt the urge to slap himself for bringing up memories he was trying so hard to shove aside on days like this one.

"You two really drove Aunt Muriel up the wall that day", Percy said quietly. "It wasn't horrible. It was childish, and stupid and annoying." He apparently tried to fake a smile, but the result was a sad grimace on his pale face.

"_You_ were annoying, with all your Prefect stuff and I'm-so-damned-important attitude", George replied, but there was no anger in his voice. He knew just as well as Percy that they'd most willingly go through it all again, simply because...

"I wish we could go back to that time", George choked, looking down. "I mean, we were a family at least."

His head shot up when he heard footsteps coming nearer. The old bed creaked a little when Percy sat down beside him.

"We are still a family", he said, but his clenched fists betrayed the firm voice. George knew that it took all of his brother's strength to say that, and one look at him proved his assumption that it was harder for Percy than he was willing to show.

A knock on the door disturbed the strained silence, and the two brothers exchanged an insecure look. Finally George shrugged.

"Come…", but Ron was in the room before he could even finish the sentence.

"Damnit Ron!", Ginny cursed, following her elder brother side by side with Harry. "Whenever anyone tried to teach you about decency, you must have skipped the basics!"

Ron merely rolled his eyes, and George fought hard to supress a grin. It faded, though, when the uncomfortable silence sneaked upon them again.

"I guess we should go downstairs", Ginny said quietly after a couple of minutes. "Bill and Fleur will be here soon, and Charlie promised to make it here in time, too."

Her brothers nodded in unison, but nobody made an attempt to move.

George didn't look at anyone, his eyes were set on the white wall again. People said that the eyes reflected one's emotions – if that was so, then he didn't want anyone to look at him either. He didn't know what he was feeling, and he definitely didn't want his siblings to find out for him. And although all his senses told him to stay in this room forever, just so that he wouldn't have to go down, he got to his feet.

"Let's go", he said in a raspy voice. "Mum and Dad must be waiting."

He could hear Ron taking a deep breath, and from the corner of his eye he could see Ginny grasping Harry's hand.

"You're right", he heard Percy say. His voice was trembling slightly, but at least he was getting up. "You know that Mum and Dad will be worried if we don't come down in time and… let's not make it harder for anyone than it is, alright?"

George threw his older brother a thankful look. He was glad that he was taking over from now on. Although Percy hadn't said it, George knew that he would give his best to help them through the day.

Ron nodded and made his way to the door, petting Ginny's shoulder quickly as he passed her by. He exchanged a quick look with Harry, and George could only guess what he was wordlessly saying. Harry, on the contrary, seemed to know, and that was obviously enough.

...He has someone to understand him like that...

George bit his lip and shook his head to get rid of the thoughts that entered his mind. He shouldn't think about that, not now.

* * *

Arthur and Molly were already waiting downstairs, just like Percy had assumed. The living room was decorated as always, a Christmas song was being played on the radio, and through the windows George could see tiny snowflakes tumbling in the air. 

For the first time in his life, he felt cold upon the sight of that scenery.

His father gave him a look he couldn't quit determine, and George thought that maybe he didn't even want to. The way his parents seemed to understand him that well scared him. It wasn't supposed to be that way.

On the other hand – nothing was.

"Merry Christmas, George", Molly said, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her voice was choked, and he could feel her shivering slightly as he squeezed her shoulder. There were tears in her eyes when they parted, and George blinked heavily.

...Be strong. For once in your life, let it be the other way round and be strong for your parents...

* * *

Later on, George didn't really know how they had all made it through the first part of the day. But somehow they had managed, and wrapping paper was piled on the table and scattered on the floor. Bill, Fleur and Charlie had dropped in in time, and now George was grinning to himself as he watched his mother cast curious glances at her eldest son and her daughter-in-law. It was just too obvious that she wanted to hear news about Fleur's pregnancy, and apparently it didn't matter to her that it hadn't even been one month since the French girl had told them. 

He let his eyes wander to his younger brother. Ron was sitting next to Ginny and Harry, making wild gestures with his long arms that seemed to be Quidditch tactics mentioned in the book in front of him, if George wasn't very much mistaken. Of course it could as well have been a failed attempt at imitating a windmill, but he wasn't so sure if Ginny would give him that much attention if it was. Harry was unnaturally quiet, stroking Ginny's hand absent-mindedly. For a short moment George wondered if Harry probably would have prefered to be somewhere else. But then again, where else would he want to be?

"Look at Ron", Percy suddenly whispered to him, with a broad grin on his face. "What's he trying to demonstrate?"

George gave the youngest Weasley boy a scrutinizing look from across the table.

"Dunno", he said, just loudly enough to gain Ron's attention. "Looks like he's trying to scare off some flying spiders."

"Shut up", Ron muttered angrily, and his ears turned slightly pink.

Percy shook his head.

"I wonder what Hermione sees in that kid – do you think she probably fell for that stuff about a man's nose?"

For a second George stared at Percy in disbelief and utter amusement, then he burst into laughter. Ginny and Harry joined him while Ron was looking furiously at Percy. The corners of Percy's mouth twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face.

"Wow", George was finally able to say while giggling like he hadn't done for what seemed to be an eternity. "You're joking Perce! I don't think I've heard you joke ever since you were…"

The smile on Percy's face faded within the blink of an eye. The expression in Ron's eyes changed. A glass shattered on the floor.

"Harry!"

George stared from one to another, from Percy to Ron, to Ginny, to the place from where Harry had vanished. He didn't understand what was going on, but he knew what Ron was going to do even before the younger one got to his feet. Ginny stood up, too, but Ron gently pushed her back.

"No, Gin", he told her, but looked at George while he was speaking. "You stay here. We'll go."

Without any more words he left the room.

And somehow George knew that he would have to join him. He only didn't know what had happened at all.

* * *


	17. Men's Talk

Okay... so this was a long time... sorry for keeping you waiting so long (anf for quite a short chapter...), but I suffered from severewriter's block, and I'm not even sure if I'm completely over it. However, I wanted to have this chapter up finally, so here it is.

* * *

**17. Men's Talk**

George hurried after his little brother, stopping outside the house, panting heavily.

"Ron, what's this about?", he asked breathlessly. "What's going on? What're we gonna do?"

"Side along…", Ron just mumbled, is forehead wrinkled in obvious concern. "Yeah, I'm quite sure he… although… whatever."

He grabbed George by the arm, but the elder one stepped back in anger.

"Ron, I will not follow you like some little kid, you get that? What the hell's going on? Why did he just leave? I know that Percy cracking a joke is scary", he put on an insecure smile, "but Harry's seen worse things before, hasn't he?"

Ron stared at him, his eyes cast down.

"You… you sounded just like Fred", he said quietly.

For a second George thought he had lost the ability to breathe, he was stunned – and angry.

"So what?", he asked through pressed lips. "Of course I do! He is… was… _is_ my twin brother!"

"You don't get it, right?", Ron whispered, his freckled face suddenly pale. "Hell George, those words…" He choked hard. "It's exactly what Fred said before he…"

But the redhead couldn't go on, and to his horror George noticed a tear trickling down his brother's face. A terrible sort of understanding washed over him, and he felt his legs become dangerously weak.

Without even thinking that it was his little brother, the one he'd made fun of for all his life, the one he'd teased ever since the first day of his life, George hugged the taller boy and held him tight for several seconds.

"I'm sorry, Ron", he croaked hoarsely.

Ron didn't answer, but after a couple of seconds he struggled to get free.

"We gotta go", he said.

"But how d'you know where he is?", George asked, trying to give his voice its normal tone again.

"I know him", Ron said matter-of-factly. "Side-along, I'd say."

He grabbed George by the arm, and George jerked.

"No, oh no, wait", he protested. "You don't seriously think that I'll go for a side-along ride to nowhere with the master of Spliching, do you?!", he asked incredulously.

"Trust me", replied Ron, and the next thing George felt was the familiar sensation of Apparating. He closed his eyes while he was clinging to his younger brother, hoping that he didn't notice how scared he actually was. The thought occurred to him that Ron could be just as scared right now.

* * *

When he felt the solid ground beneath his feet, George blinked a few times, not knowing immediately where he was. But Ron didn't give him much time to wonder, but headed for a brick wall about 200 metres away.

"Ron, where are we?", George asked.

"Don't you see?"

"No, I obviously don't", George said angrily. "You lost your left eyebrow, by the way", he couldn't help to tease his brother.

"Whatever", Ron just shrugged. "We're at the graveyard."

"No, we aren't", George protested, looking around at the unfamiliar landscape and the little houses in the distance.

"The one where his parents are buried."

Ron didn't give him another look, but went straight towards his friend.

"Smetimes I hate you", George muttered under his breath, but followed the redhead fast.

Soon they reached an iron gate which creaked quietly as Ron pushed it open. He looked around, and George imitated him, scanning the cemetery. Gravestones in grey and white, covered with snow, some bare trees, a bird singing somewhere in the distance. A figure was silhouetted against the pale blue sky, kneeling on the snowy ground.

Slowly the two brothers apporached their friend, and when they came nearer, George noticed Harry's lips move, but he didn't understand what he was saying until they were right behind him.

Ron coughed, and Harry flinched and stood up, turning round. Suddenly George didn't know where to look at, he didn't want to look at Harry whose eyes were shining suspiciously, but he felt uncomfortable looking at the two names on the gravestone as well.

"I'm sorry I ran out from you", the black-haired boy said through pressed lips.

Ron gave him a weak smile.

"Well, can't always be me, huh?"

Harry didn't respond, and George began to shift nervously. He didn't know what Ron was heading for, he only knew that Harry didn't feel comfortable at all, and neither did he.

"Listen Harry", he began, but hushed. He didn't know what he wanted to say.

"I know I should've stayed", Harry said without looking at anybody. "It was just that…"

"It's okay", Ron muttered. "I know it's hard for you. It is for everyone."

Harry shook his head.

"No, Ron. You do not know. You know what it's like to have lost someone, that's true – but… but…" He clenched his fists, but it didn't prevent his lip from trembling.

Ron reached out his hand to touch his shoulder, but the young man pushed it away.

"How can you live with me like that?", he burst out. "Treat me like that, let me be there like that, when… when…" But the rest of the sentence was drowned out in a sob that made George bite his lip painfully. That wasn't right. Harry wasn't supposed to cry on this day, not here of all places. But on the other hand – when of all times, and where of all places, were you supposed to cry, if not here and now?

"You think it's your fault?", he asked, wiping his own eyes once. "Let me tell you one thing, mate: Fred would make that scar on your face look like a scratch if he heard that crap!" He choked as he saw Harry stiffening, but he knew that he had to say it once and for all. "Harry, listen. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's no use in thinking about what could have been and what not. You think Fred would be alive if it hadn't been for you? Fine. He could."

"George", Ron interrupted him, looking worried. But somehow Harry finally seemed to listen.

"Everything could be different. For better or worse, that's a fact. He could be here now – or our whole family could've been wiped out by now for being so stupid to make friends with the Boy Who Lived. Fact is, we all knew that this war would come, we knew what was at stake – dammit, we would've joined this fight with or without you!"

"Yeah, you would", Harry nodded. "But still it… it doesn't feel right. If it hadn't been for me, your family would be whole, and now…"

"You're a part of our family", George stated.

"But…"

"You're snogging our little sister, and you get better Christmas presents than we've ever got", Ron smirked. "Just give it a thought man."

Harry smiled weakly, and slowly George felt the corners of his mouth twitch as well.

"Try not to feel that guilty, will you?", George said, laying his hand onto Harry's shoulder. This time the younger one didn't protest.

"Thank you."

Neither Ron nor George answered. There was no need to.

"Better get going I'd say", Ron proposed. "I don't care 'bout you, but I don't want to miss the pudding, okay?"

George grinned and turned at Harry.

"What do you think this edacious kid is gonna lose this time? His hair, maybe? I bet he'd look awesome with a bald head."

Harry chuckled, which earned him an angry look from his best friend.

"I come here to look for you, risk my dear life for you, and you make fun of me?", he said, but couldn't quite suppress a smile.

"Well, that's what friends are for!", Harry said deadpanned.

"And brothers", George added.

The three boys looked at each other, and without further words everything was said. They were ready to go home again.


	18. So this is Christmas

Wow, now that one took me really long to write, I don't even know why... Fact is, I'm not so much into HPanymore, maybe that's the reason. But I won't finish this story without having written some more chapters, I promise. I'm just sorry for keeping you waiting so long.

However, as I won't update before Christmas, I say it now:

**Merry Christmas to you, I hope you have a good one!**

* * *

**18. So this is Christmas**

Nobody asked questions when the three boys reappeared at The Burrow. George noticed Harry whispering into Ginny's ear, and she nodded, her typical expression of simple understanding on her face. Once again, George was amazed at how his little sister had grown up, and how she had the ability to see through Harry's façade and helping him by just being there. George smiled as he saw her small hand take the big one, and how that touch created a smile on Harry's face.

He sat down next to Charlie and Percy, and the latter threw him an enquiring look. But George didn't feel like talking right now.

Again, he let his eyes wander around in the room, from his older siblings to the younger, from Hermione and Harry to Fleur, from his father to his mother. His family. The people he loved with all his heart, those he cared about more than he could ever express – and still… He choked.

_I wish you could see us, Fred. Do you see us somehow?_

He caught his mother's look, and he tried to smile at her like he had done only minutes before, but he failed. Then he realized that it didn't matter, for he might still be able to fool his brothers, but he would never fool her.

He took a deep breath, and the old sofa creaked when he got to his feet. Slowly he went over to his parents who were sitting at the table without speaking. They were just watching their children and held each other's hands, and George knew that it was enough for now. What else would they need, what else, but the one thing they'd never get back? None of them would.

"Mum?", he adressed his mother, and she turned her head at him. "I'll be right back, okay? I just…"

"It's okay. Just go", she said warmly before he could even finish the sentence.

"Take your time", his father added, and George felt a sudden rush of affection he'd hardly ever felt before. He kissed his mother on the cheek and squeezed his father's shoulder slightly.

"Thank you", he said quietly, and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket before he stepped out of the front door.

* * *

It was bitterly cold outside, and George pulled his wollen scarf even tighter around his neck until he found it nearly impossible to breathe – but at least he wasn't cold anymore. A soft wind had emerged, sending shivers down his spine. The grass was covered with hoarfrost, reflecting the sunlight into the chilly winter air.

He had his hands in his pockets as he walked down the gravel path that was crunching beneath his feet. Soon he reached his destination.

"Hey Fred."

He stared down at the familiar stone which was now covered with a thin layer of snow. The white blanket on the grave was protecting the flowers from the cold, keeping them safe until the sun would warm them again.

"So this is Christmas… time's flying, huh?"

He barely heard his own voice, and he didn't even think about what he was trying to say. He wouldn't know it anyway, because there had never been the need to give his words a second thought when he talked to his twin. He would always understand – and so would he do now.

"Mum didn't knit any sweaters this year, you know. I suppose Ron wasn't even disappointed, you know how he always hated maroon. I wonder what he got from Hermione, he just wouldn't tell. On the other hand – maybe I don't even wanna know."

He smirked as he remembered how Hermione had blushed when he had asked her. George was sure that he had never seen Hermione's face that red before.

"Can you imagine that Bill's gonna be a daddy in 8 months from now? You should see him when he glipses at Fleur when he thinks nobody notices – he's so proud and excited. I think it's just what he needs, although it took him quite long to realize that. I wonder what their girl will look like… Believe me, it'll be a girl, Fleur says she just knows it, so I'd never dare doubt that. If she's lucky, she'll look all Veela, would be bad luck if she inherited freckles and red hair instead of her mum's gorgeous looks, wouldn't it? I mean, Veela, c'mon, they're just like… wow… those girls at Bill's wedding, blimey…"

His voice trailed of as he remembered the day, the fun they'd had, the sound of laughter in the summer air and the shimmer of blonde hair in the twilight.

"I met Ange some time ago… she didn't look well. I mean, of course she was as beautiful as ever, but – I don't know. She misses you."

George choked and clenched his fists in his pockets.

"We all do. Everything seems so irreal these days – I mean, this isn't how it's supposed to be, right? We ought to make fun of Ron, drive Mum up the wall… just like always. Percy's trying, and he does a good job at teasing ickle Ronniekins, but it's not the same."

His voice was trembling and he hated himself for it. Why couldn't he find the strength to talk to his brother, not even when he was on his own?

Because being alone was the reason for his weakness.

"I wish you were here, Fred", he whispered, and he could feel his eyes burning and knew that it wasn't only due to the cold wind. "I know I ought to get over it, at least be able to go on, I know it's what you expect from me – but I can't. I try, but it's so damned hard, you know? Sometimes I want to call you in the shop, and it's just then that I realize again that you're not there… and it hurts. It hurts like hell, Fred."

His eyes were filling as he spoke, and he wiped them once but didn't succeed in preventing the tears that he was now unable to fight back. They made their way down his cold cheeks, and he could taste the salty liquid in the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know yet what I'll do on New Years Eve. Mum and Dad would be glad to have me at home, but I don't know if… if I can face it. It'll feel so wrong. I can't… I can't just celebrate there like we used to do when… when… Fact is, I'm scared, Fred. I'm afraid of being at home, trying to act strong for Mum when I know that there's no use in doing it, and I'm afraid of getting wasted when I'm with Oliver and Lee. I've never been good at drinking. Never knew where to draw the line. Not that you'd ever show me, though. Remember Oliver's birthday? Man… you persuaded me to drink that gross stuff… I hated you for that."

He was shivering, but he couldn't tell whether it was because of the cold or because of something else.

"But it was fun. It really was. Maybe I should meet Oliver and Lee, what d'you think? Have a few beers, one for me, one for you, that's how it's supposed to be, right? Cause I have to go on, don't I? I don't want to disappoint you, Fred."

A tiny sob escaped his chest, barely audible, and George blinked hard and bit his lip even harder. It hurt for a moment, then the pain faded away.

"I guess I… I have to go back home, Fred. Mum'll be worried. You know she will."

For a few seconds he stared blankly at the black letters on the snow-covered stone, and they blurred suddenly and turned into moving pictures, floating images of laughing children in the snow, of snowball fights and steaming tea in the kitchen.

"So this is Christmas."

The letters became sharp again, and he took a deep breath before he touched them slightly. The stone was cold beneath his palm.

"I need to go home, Fred. But I'll be back. I promise."

He turned round, but didn't go on. The wind had descreased. The soft breeze didn't feel so cold on his face anymore but for where the tears had dried on his cheeks. He turned his head one more time and looked down at the snowy grave.

"Merry Christmas, bro."

* * *

A/N: Does anyone of you watch Supernatural? If you do - well, some lines may sound familiar to you! ;) If you don't - forget about it! g 


	19. For Auld Lang Syne

Surprise surprise - I finally updated! lol Sorry it took me so long... like I said, I'm not that much into HP anymore - but this story isn't finished yet and there are things I still need to write about.

I read in Katy's story what JKR said about George/Angelina. Well, here's what I think about it: It's crap. Sorry JKR, but in this case you're wrong and ooc. George would never hook up with the girl his brother had a crush on. I don't care if this makes my story un-canon, I just don't like that George/Ange idea.

However, I wanted to make _one_ chapter for New Year's Eve, but it turned out to be quite impossible. So here's the first part. Hope you like it!

* * *

**19. For auld lang syne**

"George! Where are you?"

George sighed and took a last glimpse at the mirror. He hated that, he really did. There was just no way to avoid it. Not when it was New Years Eve and you were invited to a party along with your brother and sister and friends.

"Coming!", he shouted, but then hesitated.

It still hurt. He didn't know how he would ever get used to looking at his mirror image without hurting.

"George?"

The door burst open, and he flinched. Ginny was standing in the doorway, already in her winter jacket and warm boots. As her eyes met his in the mirror, she approached him ad gently put a hand onto his shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, George."

"How can you know that?", George asked, a trace of panic in his voice. "What if I do something stupid – and don't say I won't, I've done it before – and everything just gets messed up? What if someone says something that somehow…"

Ginny chuckled, making George stop talking.

"George, you need to relax." Then her voice became more serious. "You don't have to join us. But I don't think that staying with Mom and Dad will help, you know?"

"Yeah, you're right", he agreed, and turned round, away from the mirror. "And it's cool that Oliver's invited you, too – although I'm afraid that he might try to fuddle Ron, which could turn out pretty embarrassing for the Weasley clan, don't you think? I mean, we're talking about Ron here, it's not like he hasn't done dumb moves before, right, he's got a knack of…"

"Why don't you just shut up and come downstairs?", Ginny interrupted her older brother gently. "Your dumbass little brother's waiting."

George smirked and nodded.

"Yeah… let's go."

* * *

It wasn't as bad as George had expected. In fact, it was just like any other party at Oliver's , and everybody seemed to try to make everything just as normal as any other party.

But as George watched his siblings and friends, he could see how very different it was for them as well today. They laughed, they danced, they had fun – but from time to time someone would get this expression on his or her face, the one George knew just too well by now, and he knew that in that moment memories were flooding back.

He glanced at his watch and realized that it was only one hour to midnight. One last hour to spend in this last year, one more hour to pass until the numbers on the clock face would change, sending him into another year, into an unknown future, a time he would have to face alone for the first time in his life.

He choked hard to erase the thoughts that were crawling inside his head, he didn't want to think about them. So he headed for the bar instead, fetching a bottle of cool beer. He turned around and bumped into someone.

"Sorry, didn't – oh. Hi."

"Hey", Alicia said with a smile. "Could you give me one, too?"

"Sure", he replied and handed her the drink. There was an uncomfortable silence between them and George shifted nervously. Then he finally cleared his throat and opened the bottle. "So, cheers, huh?"

"Cheers", Alicia repeated, and the connecting glass made a clinking sound louder than the music. Or at least it seemed so to George.

"So… one hour to go, right?", George said just for the sake of talking.

"Yeah. Strange, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Alicia didn't avert her eyes when he looked directly at her, and he was surprised by that. He had made the experience that people didn't look him in the eyes on days like that.

"This year… now it's nearly over, it's part of the past – and still it'll always be here, in our hearts, in our memories…"

George wasn't sure if he was only imagining it, but Alicia's eyes were shining suspiciously, and he didn't really know how to handle that right here and now. So he simply nodded, trying his best to choke back the lump in his throat.

He spotted a couple of people sitting around a table, among them Oliver, Lee and a young woman he didn't know, but whose hands were definitely entangled with Oliver's. He had to seize that opportunity.

"Look at that", he smiled and pointed at the two young people. "I wonder who that girl is."

"Suzanne Crester", Alicia said matter-of-factly, and it was only when she looked at George that she noticed his surprised look. "What?"

"How do you always already know what's going on?", George said with a smirk.

"It's a girls' thing", Alicia chuckled. "Actually, you've seen her before. She was in Oliver's year. Ravenclaw. She always had this crush on him."

George gave the young blackhaired woman a second look. He could definitely not remember her – but that didn't have to mean anything.

When he took his eyes off the couple, he became aware of Alicia still observing him. There was something in her eyes that made him want to leave and stay forever at the same time, and he was confused.

"I think I… I need some fresh air", he said without thinking. To his surprise Alicia simply nodded, not asking any questions. He appreciated that. He needed to be alone for a while. He really did.

At least he told himself so.

And then a distinct memory made its way into his mind, how he had been there, at the place he loathed and feared and loved, and how she had been there when he hadn't even known he needed her. It was this memory that made him hesitate instead of heading for the door. But he didn't know what to say, what to do.

"Do you want to go on your own?", Alicia asked with a quiet voice, a voice that was carrying the promise that she would let him go if he asked her to. Maybe it was this unspoken promise that caused him to shake his head.

"No. I don't want to be alone."

* * *

It was cold outside, and the air crystallized in front of George's mouth as he gazed at the sky. There were no clouds, just millions of white dots on the black firnament.

"Do you see them smiling?", he asked, and Alicia gave him a surprised look which he returned with a weak smile of his own. "I haven't forgotten about that."

"I'm glad you didn't", she replied quietly.

For a moment they just kept standing there, the noises of the party coming over from the house, the laughter, the music, the sound of life.

"That's one hell of a party, huh?", he remarked. "Nearly as great as the ones we used to have after the Quidditch matches."

He was stunned by his own words. All night he had been fighting back the memories, and now here he was, talking about the past he didn't want to think about.

Alicia seemed to have noticed his confusion, and gently she put a hand onto his shoulder.

"It's not wrong to remember the past as something wonderful, you know. In fact, it's necessary to do that. There's no use in shoving the memories aside. They'll always be there, and that's a good thing. We need them."

"But they hurt", George choked.

"But they also heal. Because after all, they're something you can never lose. As long as we keep our memories, we cannot forget. And forgetting is what scares me the most."

Her eyes were glancing as she spoke, and George felt her hand on his shoulder shiver slightly. But still she wouldn't take it away. And he felt comfortable feeling her warm touch in the cold.

"We had a great time, hadn't we?", he said, his voice trembling a little. "I never thought I'd ever say that but… school was a great place to be. Except for Umbridge", he added hastily, and Alicia chuckled cautiously.

"Yeah, you're probably right… After all, we had fun. A lot of fun."

They weren't looking at each other, and George wondered what she was seeing right now. Her memories were different from his, they had to be, but did this make them any less precious?

He realized that Alicia was right. It was good to have those memories, and the more people treasured them inside, not ever letting them go, the more a part of Fred would never leave. They were all they got left. All he had.

"Thank you, Alicia", he whispered.

She turned her face towards him, and a smile lit up her face while a single tear was running down her cheek. He wiped it away, gently touching her skin, he didn't even think about what he was doing. But as she didn't back away, he thought that maybe it wasn't so wrong after all.

"All this time since that night I've been wishing to see that again", Alicia said, still not moving.

"See what?"

"See that smile of yours again. The real one. I just wanted you not to lose that."

"That's what you told me", George remembered. "I promised you I wouldn't."

"And I knew you'd keep it."

The air of the night was cold, but still George felt warmer than he had in months. There was something in Alicia's words that made him feel comfortable, like maybe, someday, things could really get easier. Like he could handle whatever there was to come.

Slowly he put his hand upon her waist and drew her closer to himself. Her eyes were shining up at him, and there was a look on her face that gave him something he'd lost long ago. Hope.

And as he gently put his lips on hers and felt her hand on his back, he sensed that tiny spark of hope, an unspoken promise that there was no need to be afraid. He had been left behind – but he wasn't alone.


	20. Almost Perfect

Wow... it feels like years since my last update... o.O That sucks, and I'm sorry for that. Actually I think the story will be shorter than I had planned, simply because - like I've said before - I'm not that much into it any more. Of course I won't just stop posting, I love this story, I could never do that, but I might end it in a different way, and sooner, than I had thought I would.

But it's not over yet, so here's (finally) the new chapter!

(A virtual extra cookie for those who fnd the Supernatural allusions/ quotes lol couldn't resist...)

* * *

**20. Almost perfect**

Despite the cold, everyone had left the house when midnight came nearer. George looked around, and he recognized not only his siblings, but also some other people he vaguely remembered, although he didn't know their names anymore.

He glanced at his watch again, and it was almost scary how time was flying by. He wasn't sure if he liked that, and he tensed up involuntarily.

Someone sqeezed his hand lightly, and he turned his face to the left. Alicia was smiling encouragingly at him, and she whispered, "It's gonna be okay. Trust me."

He nodded, as if just the movement itself could make her words come true, and he tried to give back the smile she was sending up to him. But he failed, and he hated himself for that. It was only when she kissed him softy that he remembered that there was no need to fake a smile. Not when she was there, not when Ginny and Ron were watching him from a distance, not when there was a truth in his friends' eyes that told him that he wouldn't have to face this on his own.

The little crowd had formed a circle in the garden, and in the center George could see a pile of fireworks. He recognized most of the colorful rockets as he himself had brought them there, and he was even a bit excited to see them in action soon.

Again, he looked over to his siblings, and still he felt Alicia's hand holding his, and he hesitated. He enjoyed having her this near, but still…

"Go to them."

Her voice was quiet, but he heard it perfectly despite the laughter and chatter all around. He gave her an inquiring look, and she smiled.

"Don't think I'll dump you just because you want to be with your family, George. I've waited for so long, so I can hold on a bit longer, can't I?"

George kissed her thankfully, amazed at how this girl seemed to be able to read his mind, and then went over to his siblings, Harry and Hermione.

"Hey", Ron smirked, "how come you didn't tell us about you and Alicia? I wonder how you could even get here, it seemed like your hands were glued."

"Shut up, Ron!", both Hermione and Ginny hissed with their eyes set on George.

"Let him talk", George chuckled. "I just keep in mind that this is the same kid that begged me to tell him everything about girls, who was so clueless that Fred and I had to give him that book he kept hiding under his pillow because he was afraid Mum might see it."

"I never…", Ron tried to protest, but he didn't succeed as George, Harry and the girls roared with laughter. It was only when Hermione kissed Ron's flushed cheek that George realized that he had been able to talk about Fred and laugh in one sentence. He couldn't remember having done that ever before.

Suddenly everyone around them became quiet, and Hermione wouldn't even have needed to look at her watch. It was nearly time. Someone began with a countdown, and immediately the others joined in.

"10… 9… 8…"

George heard himself counting the seconds, and suddenly it scared him how easy it was to leave the past behind. A blink of an eye, a new date on the calendar, a different number on the bills, and the past was done. Vanished forever, hidden behind the curtain no one was able to pass before time was up.

"7… 6… 5…"

Memories of the last New Year's celebration flashed before his eyes. Even then things had already begun to change, and they had been afraid. It seemed so long ago now, but it was only one year. 365 days, gone so fast, the legacy lingering forever in their hearts. One year only, but enough to change a lifetime.

"4… 3…"

Ginny was taking his hand, and he could feel her shivering and knew that it wasn't because of the cold. He didn't even have to look her in the eye to be sure about that.

"2… 1… Happy New Year!"

And while around them everybody was cheering, sending brightly coloured rockets into the air and watching them explode into millions of red and green and yellow dots on the black firmament, the five persons standing together in the corner of the garden were silent.

Harry and Ginny had exchanged a kiss, and so had Ron and Hermione, but now they were standing still, gazing at the sky, and their shimmering eyes reflected the sparks above.

George himself swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat that had emerged as soon as the countdown had begun, and which had become even larger when he had seen his little sister's eyes fill with tears. Hadn't he sworn to himself not to cry? Then why was it so difficult now to keep this promise?

He had to focus on something else, anything that distracted him from the burning in his eyes.

"Look at those fireworks", he said, trying hard to put some strength into his weak voice. "They look great, don't they? They're from the shop, the newest stuff, we did some great work on that, didn't we, Ron?"

"Yeah", Ron nodded, a faint smile appearing on his face. "We did."

"Did you see the golden dragon, Ginny?", and he pointed at the sky, but the shining figure had already disappeared. "Never thought it'd actually look so good, things appear so differently at daylight, it's perfect, so damned perfect…"

And without him being able to prevent it, a tiny sob escaped his throat. He bit his lip and clenched his fists, hoping that nobody had noticed. And for a wonderful ten seconds he believed he had succeeded.

"He'd be proud of you", Ginny whispered, her voice almost inaudible through the laughter in the distance. George wasn't the only one who looked at her in shock and surprise. "I knew he would. Of all of us."

"Ginny…", Harry said carefully, but stopped when she took his hand.

"Look at us", she whispered. "Look at us standing here. It's what he'd want us to do. Going on."

George let his eyes wander from one to another, taking in the different emotions etched upon the familiar faces. Ron's freckled face pale and his trembling chin; Hermione's brown eyes glistening while a tear was trickling down her cheek; Harry clutching Ginny's hand like a lifeline as he tried not to look at anyone.

He knew that his little sister was right. Of course Fred would be proud, and George didn't even want to think about what Fred would have said if he had been there during some of his worst moments, when he'd been hiding from everyone, desperate and feeling alone. If Fred had been there, he wouldn't have wanted him to get lost in his pain and despair, he would have told him to get up again because that's the least he owed him.

But Fred hadn't been there to tell him, and that was the main point. He was gone. It was that simple, and it was that cruel simplicity that now made a tear trickle down his cheek. One single tear for the one person he'd lost, for the only one he'd never thought he'd ever lose, for the one vow they'd had to break.

"We swore we'd all make it through it. And now we've lost so much… sacrificed so much." He looked at Ginny, almost pleading her to ease his pain, but he knew she couldn't, despite the soothing words she kept saying. "I want it to stop hurting."

"I know", she said calmly, obviously fighting hard to restrain the tears that were already visible in her shining eyes. "I know, George. So do I. But… but let's not forget that he… he would want us to carry on. Have a little fun from time to time. I know it's hard, and it's not fair, but… Let's try, okay? For him."

The laughter had ebbed away, there were only a few people left outside, their breath visible in the dim light of the moon. In the distance he could see Alicia sitting on a wooden bench, her slender figure just a silhouette against the pitchblack sky.

"For him", he echoed. The air in front of his mouth crystallized as he spoke, but the white was gone before he had even turned round to hug his little sister.

Ron, Hermione and Harry hadn't said a word, and even now they remained silent. George saw his brother holding on tight to Hermione's hand, and he recognized the look of comfort and love behind Harry's rimmed glasses as the blackhaired boy took his girlfriend's hand again.

Ginny was right. There was only one way to honor Fred in a way he'd approve of, no matter how hard it was.

He had always believed that staying behind was the worst he'd have to go through. Now he realized that getting up again and going on was the real challenge. His father's words came back to his mind.

_"I realized that the terrible thing about war isn't only people dying. It's also people having to keep on living."_

That night he had been right. But it was only in this night that George knew what he had to do.

He looked at the young woman on the bench, and as he turned his head again, Ginny was watching him.

"Excuse me", he said. "But there's someone I haven't wished a happy new year yet."

Ginny smiled at him and nodded in an almost relieved way.

George turned round, and as he approached Alicia, hearing his own footsteps on the frozen ground, he thought that crossing the 20 metres to the bench was at least the first part of the road ahead. And if he could do that, he would surely somehow manage to keep on going, as long as he knew that there would be friends at his side whenever he'd need them.


	21. Sunlight

Oh my Gosh... it's done, finally it's done. It took me much longer than I had expected to finish this, but here it is, the final chapter. I hope there are still some people reading this, I'd appreciate this. It was so much fun writing this story and reading all your awesome reviews.

The quote at the end is quite fitting I think, I like it a lot. I hope you like it as well.

Thank you so much for everything!

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**21. Sunlight**

He still hated the road. He hadn't got used to hearing the gravel rustling beneath his feet, and he knew he would never be able to walk this path without hurting beyond every physical pain he'd ever felt.

He let his eyes wander from the green bushes on the left to the hedge on the right, soaking in the scent of flowers and the sound of a bird in the distance. The grass was green, sunlight was covering the ground under a golden layer, and he shivered. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this. Actually he didn't think he would ever be.

Someone took his hand, and George managed to avert his eyes from the seemingly endless lines of flowers ahead.

"Will you be okay?", Alicia asked gently, and her brown eyes reflected both sorrow and affection.

George choked hard as he nodded. He had to be, he knew it.

"I'll be waiting for you at the gate, okay?", Alicia added. "After visiting Gran…"

Again, all George could do was move his head automatically. He was aware of her holding his hand, noticed her squeezing it, but he didn't respond in any way. He just couldn't.

She raised her head, and he felt her lips meet his as she kissed him tenderly.

"Take your time. I'll be there."

"Thanks." His words were a mere whisper, croaking and almost inaudible. He didn't know what else to say. There were so many things he should have told her, but he couldn't.

But telling by the look on her beautiful face, he guessed that it wasn't necessary.

Alicia turned left, making her way over to one of the graves further away. He watched her walking away, and a part of him wanted to call her, begging her not to leave. It was only when she turned her head one last time and smiled at him encouragingly that he remembered that she would come back. That she wouldn't leave him alone.

He inhaled deeply, and the warm summer air filled his lungs and made his heart beat faster. Or was it only an illusion? For even as he thought about it, he felt as if his heart had stopped beating completely.

Almost cautiously he made his steps on the narrow path. The sunlight was blinding his eyes, and he blinked a couple of times. The nearer he got to his destination, the slower his pace became.

And finally, he stopped. His feet didn't move anymore, he was standing still but for the movement of his chest as he took another deep breath.

"Hey."

His voice was hoarse and he tried to clear his throat. He didn't want to sound like that. He shouldn't sound like that. It was riddiculous.

A distant echo of laughter faded away in his head.

"Don't you laugh at me, Fred. Please."

His gaze fell upon the flowers on the grave. Someone had already been there, and George wondered who it could have been. His parents, maybe? But they would have told him, wouldn't they? Then again, would _he_ have told _them_? Maybe they needed to keep things to themselves as well. How was he to know?

What did he know at all?

"Mom and Dad are doing fine, Fred. At least they try to. I don't visit them as often as I should, I guess." He choked. "It's hard, you know? It still is. For everyone. But believe me, we do our best."

He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, and the last months passed in front of his inner eye like an old movie, a bit blurred, with some glitches, but the pictures were still the same.

"Fleur's pregnancy's really visible now. Not that we'd ever tell her, you know how women hate it when you make remarks about their bellies", he chuckled quietly, "Ron did, of course, and he regretted it the very same moment. Anyway, Bill's so excited, and whenever he talks about his little girl there's a smile on his face that I haven't seen for ages. It's the best thing that could have happened to him. It just took him a while to realize that."

Two birds were flying off from a bush nearby, and he watched them as they soared and became smaller in the distance.

"Charlie's back to work in Romania, but the last time he owled he said that he might move to Sweden soon, there's a study on Swedish Shortsnouts in which he was offered a job. Might be fun." He shrugged. "Mum wasn't so fond of that idea, though. She was hoping he might come home, to some place in England at least, but she should have known. Charlie isn't made for that kind of life. I don't think he'll settle down before he's, like, at least 50. Always adventurous, isn't he?"

For the blink of an eye a memory flickered through his mind, and he pressed his lips together tightly.

_"I missed like the most important years of my family, and I didn't even see it. And now it's too late. Forever."_

"I just hope he'll find some rest once in a while."

He sighed quietly. Again, a good advice, so easy to say. And yet so hard to take.

"Maybe Ginny has already told you, but however… when she's finished at Hogwarts she'll start to play for the Harpies, isn't that great? Ron's still a bit sulky about the fact that she's such an awesome player, but I think it's just right. After all, she wouldn't have made it that far if she hadn't had to practise so much on her own, would she? And that's just because of us."

George grinned. It was a half-hearted grin, though, as he remembered the look on Ginny's face as she had told him the news.

"She'll be alright. She's strong, she's always been. Tougher than the rest of us. If she doesn't make it, I don't know how I…"

He stopped when he noticed the tone of his voice. Again, he cleared his throat and let his gaze wander across the wide green with the regular rectangular shapes. There they were, side by side, so different and yet united here on this field of beloved souls. He didn't know anyone of them. Whose lives had been laid to rest here? Who had stood here before him, mourning and still trying to be strong? How many had tried the same, asked the same questions, felt the same pain?

"Do you see them, Fred?", he asked quietly as he looked down at the grave at his feet again. "How are you doing over where you are? Are you alright?"

He had never known those questions existed. He had locked them away, somewhere in the dark, dusty corners of his mind, hoping that they would never make it out into the light. But appearently, he had been wrong. The tiny questions lingering in the shadows of his soul were always there, would always be, and all he could do was try to deal with them.

"I hope you are, I really do. And then again I find myself wondering if you can at all. Because if I am not alright – and believe me, I ain't – then how can I assume that you are?"

He clenched his fists as the words left his mouth, and he stared at the blue sky for a second. The sunlight blinded his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand. But there was nothing to see. Nothing but the endless open above.

For a moment there was silence surrounding him, even the soft wind had stopped rustling the branches of the nearby tree, no bird was singing, all he could hear was his own shallow breathing.

His words were merely above a whisper when he spoke again.

"The world's indeed a safer place now. More peaceful definitely. But is it better? I don't know. Was it worth it in the end? We always said we'd give everything, that we'd fight on the good side no matter what. And we did. But the price was so much more than I can take, Fred. So much more. And there are so many more who had to pay it as well. Remus, Tonks… their child will grow up and never know his parents. He won't have a mum to freak because of bad marks at school. No dad to show him how to make the shelves repair themselves. And Colin… Samantha… Steven… No parents should have to bury their child. No one should have to bury a brother or sister. But we had to. And it hurts so much."

He bit his lips as he stared down at the engraved black lines on the stone, like he had done so many times before. Each line a scar on his soul, never fading away.

But almost unnoticed by himself, the burning had eased.

"Sometimes I wonder if I have ever told you just how much I need you. I guess I haven't, and it scares me. Because now all I can do is hope that you knew it after all. That you know it _now_. And then again, how am I to even dare think that you don't? You always do."

George knelt down next to the stone, and for a short moment he touched the name on it with his fingertips. He could feel the warmth of the sun on the black lines, yet he shivered slightly as the words burned his eyes.

"I wish I could have protected you. I wish I could turn back time and make it all undone. But I know it's useless. We wouldn't do it any other way. You wouldn't want us to. We'd do it all over again, because… just cause."

His voice ebbed away, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the bird again. He knew it was there, although he couldn't see it.

_"I will keep you alive in everything I do. I'll fight for us every single day, I promise you this. I won't give up. Never. I won't disappoint you, Fred."_

"I made a promise a long time ago, do you remember? I will keep it. I _am_ keeping it. It's not easy, but I've got help. A lot of help. But of course, you know that, like you always do. You will always know me best."

A smile appeared on his face while he could feel a single tear running down his cheek. Somewhere behind, he could hear footsteps coming nearer. He didn't need to turn around to find out whom they belonged to. For one last time, he traced the black lines on the stone with his finger.

_Fred Weasley  
April 1978 - June 1998_

"Happy Birthday, bro."

And with these words he got up again, turned round, feeling the warm sun on his face. He walked towards the young woman waiting for him at the end of the gravel road, he could hear the tiny stones rustling beneath his feet, and in a strange, mysterious way, the hatred inside had eased just like the burning of the invisible scars on his soul.

He would be alright. It was a matter of time, and of learning, and above all of family and friends, but he would be okay. Not perfect, most probably, but okay. And for now, that had to be enough.

* * *

_I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity._

_(Gilda Radner)_

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End


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